


Six Crooked Highways

by carolinablu85



Series: A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: AU, Angst and Humor, Ava is known for taking in strays..., F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Tim needs a hug. He just doesn't want it., What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinablu85/pseuds/carolinablu85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU- What if Tim had ended up in Kentucky after his discharge, but not as a marshal? What if he was on the other side of things?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains, I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways, I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests, I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans._ -Bob Dylan
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter One- in which the exposition is laid out rather heavily (sorry!)

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Art asked as Ava was led clear of the cabin and its mess. 

She rubbed her wrist absent-mindedly. “Which one?” Finished with her statement, she looked for all the world like she just wanted to go home and sleep. She walked past Raylan without a glance in his direction.

Art was still chuckling at that when Raylan joined him. “Well, this ought to be a good story, Raylan, why don’t you start from the top? Once upon a time, there was a shootout at a cabin...” he motioned for Raylan to pick up where he left off.

And Raylan would have, he definitely would have, but he was distracted by the unfamiliar truck parked just outside the police perimeter. “Huh.”

Art followed his gaze, and they watched as Ava approached the truck, not even hesitating to get in. “And which boyfriend is that, I wonder.”

Raylan spared an annoyed glance at his boss. “Isn’t.”

Art grinned, unrepentant. “Then who is it? Someone in Boyd’s crew?”

“Nope,” Raylan eyed the truck, wishing it would turn already so he could see the license plate. “I know of everyone in his crew. This kid’s a wildcard.”

“Kid?” Art looked at Raylan, intrigued. “You know him?”

He shook his head. “Saw him at the VFW recently,” was all he felt like saying. Had, in fact, seen this twenty-something talk down another vet with a grenade, stop him from blowing up the VFW, Arlo, and everyone else within a close radius. Raylan had tried to talk to him then, but this guy had taken one look at his badge and left. And maybe now Raylan knew why.

“Well then,” Art did that pre-sigh tone of his. “Let’s get back to the dead bodies at hand.”

***

Tim kept his face smooth, blank, eyes straight ahead as Ava got in. They were both silent for a minute. Literally, sixty seconds. Tim counted. “Okay,” she finally said, quiet, almost unsure.

He nodded, pulling the truck away from the madness in front of them. “Boyd went after the shooter?”

She glanced sideways at him. “How’d you know that?”

“Magic.”

“Tim.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “He called me this morning.” It wouldn’t have been a happy smile anyway.

She eyed him some more, recognizing his tone, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “Is there any chance your rifle is in the back?”

“Missing a few rounds, maybe.”

Ava closed her eyes. “Boyd had you playing backup,” she guessed. “He didn’t shoot that last guy by the car. You did.” More guesses. “Does Raylan know?”

“Deputy Tombstone?” Tim raised an eyebrow, shook his head. “Doubt it.”

She shook her head too, a scolding tone creeping into her voice. “I thought you weren’t doing that anymore, Tim. Not for anyone named Crowder. You-”

“You think I did it for him?” he tried to keep the anger out of his words. It didn’t work.

She turned fully to face him, eyes scrutinizing. “Are you mad at me for something?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Silent for a bit, then he spoke. “You should’ve called me.”

“Well, I was a hostage,” she reminded him. “And unconscious for most of it. I don’t rightly know when I was supposed to pick up the ph-”

“I found a sawed-off at your place,” he kept at it. “Never seen that before.”

“I got it from Helen,” she started to grow defensive.

Good, she should be defensive. That meant she knew she’d done something wrong. “Which means someone was giving you trouble before today. You should’ve called me.”

“And how do I do that? I don’t know where you are half the time you leave the house,” she pointed out. And then she did that thing he hated, that thing where she smiled warmly at him. Like she _liked_ him. “I didn’t want to drag you anymore into it, honey. You’d already pissed Bo off enough. And I needed to show him I could protect myself.”

“Oh, yeah, great job there,” he grumbled.

She squeezed his arm. “I don’t know exactly when you got it in your head that it’s your job to protect me, but it ain’t. I appreciate it, but no.”

Thing was, Tim _could_ pinpoint the moment he’d made it his job. 

 

A few weeks after his honorable discharge (which is basically the Army's way of saying, "it's not you, it's me"), aimlessly wandering from bar to bar and nightmare to nightmare in Little Rock, a contact from Afghanistan had sent him a phone number. Of course, the area code had been Kentucky, so Tim had tried to send it right the fuck back. But the guy insisted- an old Gulf War buddy of his could use Tim’s kind of expertise. 

Tim had needed something to take his mind away from... himself, really, from the things he saw every time he closed his eyes, so the next morning he got his meager duffel of belongings and his rifle into a truck and drove out to meet Boyd Crowder. 

Miraculously, they hadn’t hated each other. 

Tim appreciated Boyd’s ability to fill silences without asking him to do the same. Boyd appreciated Tim’s ability to understand the words he was using when he did. Add in their mutual ability to keep calm under pressure, their mutual ability to make a joke at the worst time, and Tim’s eagle eye behind a gun, and the freelance position Tim took up worked out nicely.

Boyd’s father Bo, something of a Harlan ‘Godfather’ best Tim could guess, ended up in prison not long after Tim arrived, for which he was kinda grateful. For one, he was never comfortable around fathers of any type. And for another, Bo was an asshole. Boyd might’ve been on the wrong side of the law, but there was a... morality? A something, a code maybe, that Tim could appreciate if not totally agree with. Bo was just a criminal. A villain. (Most fathers were, though. Weren’t they?)

Tim worked with Boyd and his crew without ever fully being a part of it- the ‘white power’ bullshit wasn’t for him, and there's no way he could trust being part of a team that wasn't his unit overseas. Boyd let that go, probably knowing that Tim saw more of him- more behind his 'white power' bullshit- than most others did. And Boyd never questioned Tim when he declined a particular job or disappeared for a few days at a time. They understood each other; Tim was his own man, and somehow he always found his way back to Harlan.

Then one night he helped Boyd get his drunk asshole of a brother home from a bar. And he’d met Bowman’s wife. And Tim, who’d been dealing with flashbacks and half-remembered nightmares from the last nine years of service, was suddenly remembering farther back. His mama, the way she moved stiffly sometimes, eye contact dashing here and there. 

Tim’s hands had stayed permanently curled into fists the whole time he was there. The one time he and Ava had actually met eyelines, they’d held it too long. Somehow recognized the bruises inside each other. 

Growing up, Tim had never been able to do anything about his father, never been able to stop him. But this night, he could do something. Kept himself between Bowman and Ava at all times, silently but purposefully directing him away whenever he got too close. When Boyd finally pulled Bowman up the stairs to pour him into bed, Ava (probably without realizing it) let out a breath, shoulders relaxing.

She looked at Tim standing awkwardly at the foot of the stairs. “Help me wash these dishes,” she ordered, woman of the house once more. He’d paused, listened to make sure Bowman was really down for the count, then obeyed.

They worked mostly in silence, Ava occasionally directing him where a dry dish should go. “You’re not one of the white-power-raging freaks, are you?” she asked, sounding like she already knew the answer.

He shook his head, drying the plate she handed him. “Don’t much care for it.” He’d fought side by side with too many guys to judge by skin color. How they reacted to bullets flying at their heads, how well they learned not to piss him off, sure, but not race.

“Where you staying?” she asked, curious, handing him another plate.

He shrugged. “Here and there.” He liked sleeping outdoors when the weather was nice. And there were enough dirt-poor, aimless people in Harlan that crashing on an empty couch wasn’t unusual to most.

“Well,” she had regarded him all seriously. “If you need a place tonight, ‘here’ can be... well, here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think we-”

Ava had laughed then, the first time he’d heard it. “No ‘we’, kid, I swear. I’m married after all,” the laugh turned dark for a second. “But if Boyd trusts you this much, I’m guessing you won’t run off with our silver in the middle of the night. And I-” she’d stopped, started again. “I think you and I understand some situations.”

He nodded without meaning to. Then stopped himself from revealing anything more. “You have that much silver to worry about?” he asked instead.

She laughed again. “We have a guest room you can sleep in, I’ll-”

“No,” Tim got firm, insistent. “You sleep in the guest room. I can take the couch.”

Ava smiled sadly, knowingly. “One night won’t change him, son.”

He stayed firm. “I’m homeless a lot.”

She squinted at him, smile still in place. “What’d you say your name was?”

He fidgeted. He hadn’t done that in years. “Tim. Gutterson.” He suddenly felt stupid, awkward, years younger than he was.

She squeezed his hand for a second when he handed back the dishtowel. “Let me get you a pillow for the couch, Tim.”

Boyd hadn’t said a thing about the arrangement, and part of Tim always wondered if he’d wanted it this way- unable to go against his own brother but supplying Ava with someone who could. 

And Tim definitely tried.

He couldn’t be there every night, couldn’t stop every beating, but he ran interference whenever he could, sometimes coming to blows with Bowman himself. Or sometimes Tim and Ava would leave the house, get in Tim’s truck and just drive, passing the time until they knew Bowman would be asleep or passed out. 

It was on one of these drives that Tim realized his purpose there, his job. Nothing particularly different about this drive, really. Just... Ava had turned off some country song she knew Tim hated and switched the radio to the one classic rock station Harlan got. She never cared much for AC/DC herself, but knew Tim did.

It had hit him then- nobody else knew that about him. Nobody else knew his mama’s name, the names of his still-living friends in the service (he didn’t talk about the dead ones). He knew the way Ava liked her coffee, how much she dreaded someday having to go back to hairdressing, but that she absolutely would if it meant getting away from Bowman. How she thought Boyd was creepy, but didn’t _hate_ him like she did everyone else in that family.

Ava had somehow become something like family to him, not that he’d ever admit it to her, Boyd, or anyone else on this earth. But, he also had to admit it was nice. Comforting, maybe? And so he had to protect it.

It was during that drive that he’d offered to teach Ava how to shoot a gun.

 

And now, here they were. Bowman dead. Bo (probably? Tim hadn’t looked too hard) dead. Boyd in the wind. U.S. Marshals most likely knew his license plate number. Tim with another kill on his list (but not his conscience). Ava with another harrowingly stupid story to tell. _Like sand through the hourglass... yadda yadda yadda._

They spent the ride back to Ava’s mostly silent, Tim not sure if he was more angry at having to be involved or at not being involved sooner. He pulled up to her house, sat there quietly, not getting out. Not even turning the truck off. 

Ava didn’t get out either, somewhat wary now. Tim had really never been mad at _her_ before. “You coming in?” she ventured.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I- I’m pissed, Ava.”

“I know,” she said it apologetically, maybe so she wouldn’t actually have to apologize. “It’s over now, though, okay? And you did your part. Come inside, I’ll cook some dinner. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” She fished a pack of cigarettes out of his glove compartment. He didn’t smoke but had taken to leaving some there for her. “Fried chicken?”

He could feel himself giving in and tried to hold out just a little longer. “You got some psychological issue that says you have to cook fried chicken when people get shot?” he asked with more bite than was necessary.

“Maybe,” she deliberately lit the cigarette with a flourish, but at least blew the smoke out the window. “Can’t tell me you’re not hungry, kid. I know you are.”

“Ava,” he said quietly. No. He wanted to be angry for a little longer.

She just smiled, overly sweet. “Maybe some fried okra, too?”

“I’m not helping either of you next time,” he warned. “Gonna let you both die, bulldoze this house down, and build a gun range over it. With a hair salon.”

She laughed, and he was a little relieved to see some nervous energy leave her. Her hands had been shaking since she got in the truck, but now they were steady. “Hit me where it hurts, Timmy.”

He turned the truck off and followed her into the house.

***

Maybe she was too exhausted to actually sleep. That’s what Ava told herself, anyway. She tossed and turned for an hour or two, bedside lamp on, then off. Blanket on, then off. Nothing worked. Finally, about three in the morning, she huffed angrily and sat up. Throwing a robe on over her nightgown, she mentally catalogued the cupboards in her kitchen. Coffee, hot cocoa, bourbon...

Something had to help, right?

She crept past the guest room, not wanting to wake up Tim, and eased down the stairs, proud of herself for remembering to step past the third creaky one. Of course, that plan went all to shit when she reached the bottom of the stairs and nearly jumped out of her skin at the quiet sound in her living room, calming only once her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Oh, of course. Tim was asleep on the couch.

She leaned in the doorway, studied him for a moment. He was absolutely still, curled up a little, one hand lying a few inches from the shotgun he had confiscated from her. Face smoothed of its normal tension, he looked... young. As young as he actually was, the kind of young she sometimes _forgot_ he actually was. 

He rarely slept in the guest room, no matter how many times she offered or insisted. It was like that was too nice for him, or too real. He could leave so much easier if he was just on the couch.

Ava’d never say it out loud, but she was always relieved when she woke up in the morning and he was still there. She worried about him otherwise. In the year or so that she’d gotten to know Tim, she’d definitely grown fond of him. Despite his too-bitter, too-sarcastic, too-military exterior, there was still a kid underneath. She was sure of it. And maybe she’d taken it upon herself to look after that kid. 

In a way, she was actually grateful Tim had been in the middle of one of his disappearing acts when she killed Bowman. He would’ve been the one to do it if he’d been there. Ava knew Tim would’ve shot him to protect her. And with what happened with Bo after... He hadn’t been unscathed as it was, but it could’ve been worse. At least that’s what she’d told herself the next time she saw him again, the black eye, the stitches...

Besides, if Tim _had_ been around, he would’ve given her all kinds of shit for getting involved with Raylan. She wondered sometimes whether Tim reminded her more of him or of-

She was brought out of her thoughts quickly and sharply- footsteps on the front porch. In the span of her eyes blinking closed and open again, Tim had rolled off the couch, shotgun pointed at the door. Without a word he moved closer to it, ticking his head to the side to tell her to get behind him. 

They were both silent for a moment, waiting, and then Ava’s breath was nearly pulled out of her when whoever it was actually _knocked_ on the _door_. She exchanged a confused look with Tim, and he inched forward, trying to peer through the window without being seen. His shoulders dropped, relaxed, at the exact moment a soft voice called out, “Ava?”

“Oh for the love of-” she pushed past Tim and opened the door. “What the hell are you doing here, Boyd?”

He was leaning in the doorway, exhausted, drooping against the frame. His arm in a sling. His eyes half-open. Looking just how she felt. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Tim lower the gun, backing up. 

“I’m sorry to call upon you so late,” Boyd was speaking quietly, slowly. Almost dazed, maybe. “But I wanted to see how you were faring.” He looked past her to Tim, nodding... something? to him. Thanks maybe, or an okay, a reassurance, Ava wasn’t sure. But she heard Tim’s footsteps, knew he was heading for the kitchen.

“I’ll make some coffee,” he murmured over his shoulder to them.

Ava pulled the door back farther, gesturing for Boyd to come in. “You go to the hospital?” she asked, eyeing the sling.

“I did,” he moved carefully, contained. Reminding her of Tim after he’d wake up from a nightmare, when he was still trying to keep everything inside.

She led him over to the couch. “Did you get that woman?”

“Raylan did.” He spoke just as controlled.

She let that part go, studying him instead. He wasn’t the Boyd she thought she knew, he wasn’t brash and swaggering, spiteful, weaselly. He was beaten down. Ava sighed, cursing the pity tugging at her heart. “You have a place to stay tonight?” she asked, almost against her will.

Boyd blinked at her, surprised. “Ava, truly, that isn’t why I’m here.”

“And it isn’t why I let you in the house. But here we are,” she joined him on the couch, keeping a good amount of space between them. “You saved my life today. And you-” _You saw your daddy die_ almost came out of her mouth. But then, he apparently had planned to kill Bo today, so she wasn’t exactly sure how touchy of a subject that was. “You look like you need a safe place for the night.”

Tim appeared in the doorway with three mugs, passing them around. He took up the seat across from them silently, eyes straying to the door every once in awhile, like he was preparing for someone else to show up. The shotgun was propped up next to him, but Tim seem unconcerned besides that, sipping on his coffee.

Ava looked at him, smiled, then turned back to Boyd. “You can sleep on the couch-”

“Guest room,” Tim corrected.

She huffed. “You allergic to that room or something?” she half-snapped. “He’s roughed up, Tim, why make him climb the stairs for-”

“Better him pulling a muscle climbing the stairs than being our first line of defense if any leftovers of Bo’s men or the damn Mexican cartel show up,” Tim half-snapped right back.

That shut her up. “Oh.”

Boyd set aside his coffee mug. “I think, just this once, I’ll have to agree with young Timothy here.” Ava appreciated that for the affronted glare Tim sent his way. It was nice to think that someone else in this world could annoy Tim like she could. She wasn’t sure yet if she appreciated that it was _Boyd_ , but still.

Another sigh. “Well luckily, the bed’s already made-” another pointed look at Tim that was purposefully ignored. “And you’re familiar with where it is, so...” she waved a hand around vaguely. 

Boyd just nodded, still rather stiff. “I wanted to thank you- both of you- for today. And apologize.” He held Ava’s gaze. “Ava, I didn’t know his plan was to-”

“That was because of Raylan, Boyd,” she cut him off. “Not you.”

“It was still my daddy who perpetrated the crime,” he shook his head. “And I can only assure you it won’t happen again. I promise you that.” He glanced over at Tim. “I won’t get either of you involved like that again.”

Tim just shrugged, brushing it away like he did everything (or filing it away for later thought, Ava was never sure). Ava, though, continued to study Boyd. “What are you going to do now?” she asked softly, surprised by how curious she was.

Boyd was quiet for awhile, looking down at his hands. “I don’t rightly know just yet.” It seemed to be the most truthful thing he’d ever said.

“Well...” she was almost at a loss. This wasn’t the same Boyd, she thought again. “Maybe things will look better in the morning. Go on up and get some rest now.”

Boyd blinked at her, a hint of surprise in the look, but obeyed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. He stood and made his way unsteadily up the stairs.

They waited until they heard the guest room door open and shut before looking at each other. Ava held up a finger warningly. “Don’t you start.”

Tim shrugged, smiling a little. “Didn’t say nothing.”

“You’re saying ‘nothing’ real loud, Timmy,” she glared, smiling too. “It’s just for tonight.”

“Mmhmm,” Tim made a show of being placating. “Sure.”

“Tim,” she protested. “I mean it. Just for tonight.”

“Yeah,” he said right back, finishing his own coffee, setting it aside. “That’s what you said about me, isn’t it?”

She gathered the mugs to take back into the kitchen, ruffling his hair as she walked by. “And if I ever get you past the damn couch, I’ll actually be proven wrong.” She felt his glare even with her back turned, and counted it as a victory.

Of course, Tim was right.

‘Just for tonight’ became a few nights, a week, then longer. Then it just became, well, life. The boys would get up early, and Boyd would already be out at the mines by the time Ava woke up. (He really was going; Tim confided in Ava one day that he had followed Boyd to make sure.) By the time Ava would get back from her job (God, she _hated_ the beauty parlor), it would be almost dinner time. If Tim was around that week, he’d help her cook, Boyd joining them if he wasn’t working a night shift.

Sometimes.

Maybe a few weeks into their arrangement, Boyd started coming back to the house later and later, smelling of alcohol and blood, face blackened from bruises and coal dust.

“Damn it, Boyd,” she sighed, yanking him into the bathroom to find the first aid kit. “We had a deal.”

“We still do,” he murmured. His voice was still so dazed and passive, slow-moving like molasses. “I’m keeping the alcohol out of your house.”

“And taking up some new after-school activities?” she accused, unsure of what was making her more upset- that Boyd had broken a rule or that she had been so hopeful he wouldn’t. She’d gotten... used to him lately. Handing him an ice pack for his eye, she grabbed antiseptic wipes to deal with his bloody knuckles.

“I promise you, Ava, I haven’t returned to my former ways,” he managed to sound convincing even with that weird new voice.

“Then why are you coming home every night looking like this?”

“Because some other patrons of Audrey’s don’t seem to understand our agreement,” he barely winced when she rubbed alcohol on the cuts, maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Audrey’s?!” she hissed, unsure of why she was so affronted by that.

Tim chose that moment to appear, eyed them both, then sighed. Resigned, like he’d expected them both to be right there, doing just that. “I’ll get dinner started.” Then he was gone from the doorway, back down the stairs.

They were quiet for a second, momentum broken. “When did he reappear?” Boyd asked, smiling just a little. 

Tim had been gone for six days this time. She didn’t sigh. She absolutely didn’t. “Some time this morning after you left.”

“Any idea where he was on this particular sojourn?”

Ava glared, slapping a bandaid on his hand. “Tim’s business is his own. You know that.”

Boyd looked genuinely surprised. “I always assumed his little vacations were his way of avoiding a job from me or my daddy. I thought you knew-”

“Tim’s business is his own,” she repeated firmly. “I trust him enough to leave that alone.” _And almost enough to know he’ll come back here every time._

Boyd seemed to hear her thoughts, nodding along. “You’re doing too fine a thing, Ava, looking after both of us.”

She sighed, fought back a smile, not wanting to give in to the complement (Tim was rubbing off on her). “Well, he helps me look after you some. Maybe you could return the favor.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Boyd nodded, genuine. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

Boyd found it puzzling sometimes that the two people he currently trusted most in this world were the woman who killed his brother (and almost him) and the strange young man who slept on her couch. Even though neither of them trusted him half as much.

Tim was most definitely a puzzle to Boyd. Intriguing. Not in the way Tim was confusing to most people, he got that. The contained, seemingly secretive way Tim held himself had a lot to do with the things he’d seen and done overseas. While Boyd’s service had not been any sort of picnic, it had been a hell of a lot better than Tim’s. Boyd knew enough to leave Tim be in that respect.

But he was constantly surprised by Tim’s personality, his quirks, the code he seemed to live by that even Boyd’s brain couldn’t quite crack. And, funny enough, his taste in literature. It came up one night on the front porch, sitting in the quiet, listening through an open window as Ava washed dishes in the kitchen.

“‘Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing,’” Boyd gave a sigh of contentment, stretching sore muscles as he leaned back in one of the chairs.

Tim was at his normal spot, sitting on the porch rail, one leg dangling down almost childishly. “Roosevelt.”

Boyd leaned his chair back almost too far, snapping back upright to smile at him. Tim just shrugged, looking like he wanted to kick himself for saying anything at all. “Why Timothy, I am impressed.”

Another shrug, another glare. (Tim always got so annoyed when Boyd used his full name. It was why Boyd did it so often.) “I know how to read.”

“Well, you’re from Arkansas. I couldn’t be too sure of that,” he kept on grinning.

Tim raised an eyebrow. _Really?_ “You’re from Harlan.”

He thought that over for half a second. “Touché.” Settling back in the chair again, “You a fan of ol’ Theodore?”

“Used to be,” Tim looked the other way, out across the yard, towards the mountains.

“Not anymore?” Boyd prompted.

Tim’s hands kept busy, zipping and unzipping his jacket. “Can’t really get behind anyone who would romanticize war after going through it.”

Boyd let that sit between them quietly, giving the words and history behind them the respect they deserved. “Kerouac?” he asked after a bit.

An actual, honest-to-the-high-Lord smile appeared on Tim’s face. Not a smirk, a smile. It was small but it was there. “Him, I like. Leary too.”

“I thought as much,” Boyd matched the smile. “Different type of romanticism.”

Tim cocked his head to the side, acknowledging that. “But because their reality sucked, not because of ill-conceived notions. Not like Roosevelt or- or McCarthy?”

“Ah,” Boyd nodded sagely. “McCarthy. An outsider view of our south, masquerading as inside.”

“And of traveling through, of-” Tim hesitated, then ploughed on through his original thought. “Of fathers and sons.”

Boyd nodded again, knowing better than to pick at that thread. Especially not when his own was still too frayed. But it did very much explain why Tim had attached himself to Ava, and why she had so easily reciprocated. “How about Faulkner?”

Tim shrugged, and Boyd was pleased to note he was turned a little more towards the porch- and Boyd. “Couldn’t ever really sit still long enough to get through most of his stuff.”

Boyd found that hard to believe, as un-stirred as Tim usually seemed to be. “But you could get through Cormac McCarthy?”

The smile went a little dark. “Mostly out of spite.”

He chuckled, enjoying this side of Tim. He wished he’d known about it earlier, back when he’d used him as not much more than a hired gun. He opened his mouth to throw out another name- another test- but a throat clearing next to him interrupted. 

Ava stood there, eyeing them both a bit strangely. “Coffee could use some making,” she said. “Is book club over, or are you waiting for Oprah to show up?”

Tim rolled his eyes, sliding off the porch rail and going inside without another word. Between the three of them, he made the best coffee and they all knew it. Boyd lingered for a moment, smiling at Ava. “I forgot how much I like having Timothy around.”

“Oh, and I’m sure he feels the same way,” she bantered back with a real smile of her own. She had a truly beautiful smile, Boyd realized. He didn’t see it nearly often enough. And he liked it.

And he was truly in trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two- in which Raylan's own special brand of drama and snark is added to the mix

Raylan braced himself before getting out of the car, one slow breath in and out. The walk up to the house was just as slow and bracing. The last couple times he’d been here hadn’t exactly been pleasant. He wondered how much she still hated him-

“She ain’t here.”

Raylan almost stumbled up the steps. He’d been so preoccupied with his thoughts, he’d failed to notice the person lounging on the far railing. He smiled ruefully, hoped it came across as charming. Of course. Mystery VFW Guy. “Actually, I’m not looking for Ava.”

VFW raised an eyebrow, somehow not looking at all surprised by that. “He ain’t here either.”

Which was kind of aggravating, and Raylan hated being aggravated, and the only target left was the guy sitting in front of him. “Mom and Dad left you in charge of the house all by yourself?”

He nodded without missing a beat. “As long as I make sure the stove’s off and don’t stay up past my bedtime.”

Raylan made a face, unamused with the joke even though he’d started it (he ignored that part). “Where’s Boyd?”

“At work,” the guy- he was a kid really, not even thirty- and shit if that didn’t make Raylan feel old- answered him so unimpressed. Not at all intimidated or nervous. “What are you supposing he did now?”

“Something that’s enough to put him and the other person who lives here in some danger. You mind telling me exactly where his ‘work’ is?”

“What’s the something?” he didn’t get heated at all. Raylan found it irritating, knew that was the reason VFW was doing it, and got even more irritated. “What makes you so sure Boyd’s involved?”

“An oxy bus got robbed on the way to Frankfort,” Raylan spilled, throwing the information at their feet like a deck of cards. Ante up. “Anything about that sound familiar to you? Or Boyd?”

VFW smiled, goddamn it. Shook his head. “You could always ask around Audrey’s. Lots of ungodly folk there, right?” He perked up all of a sudden, like a dog catching some scent. “Hey, you forgot to show me your badge. Is this really official U.S. Marshal business, or are you just-?”

“Son of a goddamn...” Raylan growled the words as he turned to go, all but throwing his hands in the air in defeat.

“It wasn’t Boyd,” the voice called out just as he reached his car. Raylan paused, his hand on the door handle, listening. “Wasn’t Boyd, but he did have to throw an old associate off the property early this morning.”

Raylan closed his eyes, praying it wasn’t the associate his instincts told him it was. “Please, don’t say it was Dewey Crowe.”

A way-too-pleased chuckle was his answer.

***

“Don’t be going after Tim,” was the first thing he heard the next time he climbed those porch steps.

Raylan stopped, held his hands out peaceably towards Ava. “I don’t even know who that is.” She glared, waiting. Then it hit him. “VFW kid?”

She frowned at that, not making the connection, but it was all obviously the same guy. “He’s not involved in Boyd’s shit, or yours and mine, so leave him be,” she ordered. 

He couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on his face. She was really worked up about this. “You got a long-lost brother I never knew about?”

She smiled rather unsweetly, blew out a puff of cigarette smoke. “There’s a lot of me you’ll never know about.”

He had to smile, conceding that. “So, not your brother. Who is he?”

“He’s nothing, involved in nothing,” Ava got firm, quiet. “Leave him be.”

Raylan leaned casually back against the porch railing, skeptical. “Ava, you know I can’t just-”

“You owe him,” she cut him off, sounding more driven, more... desperate, maybe? “He saved your life a few weeks ago. Please, Raylan.”

“He sa- he what now?”

“Bulletville,” Ava took another long, slow drag from her cigarette. “The cabin. Wasn’t Boyd who got that guy with the rifle.”

Raylan took his hat off, wiping at his forehead. “Shit.” VFW... “He’s a combat vet.” She just raised her eyebrows. “What, a hotshot something or other?”

Ava stubbed out her cigarette. “He doesn’t have anything to do with any federal investigations, or fugitives, or oxy peddlers, or your daddy, so you just leave him alone.” Then she glared, her eyes sharpening. “Boyd too. He ain’t done nothing since he’s been here.”

“And why is that?” Raylan got comfortable against the railing again. “The ‘him being here’ part. You’re letting the man _live_ here, Ava.”

“It’s a big house,” her voice went back to airy, casual. “Bowman left me with bruises, no money, and a mortgage I can’t pay by myself.”

He wasn’t done. “The man whose family terrorized you. The man who nearly killed you himself. Who-” he shook his head, wanting to shake her. “He’s a criminal, Ava.”

“Not anymore. We have a deal. No liquor in the house, I’m trying to cut back anyway,” she had a wink and a curtsy in her tone, Raylan could hear it, “and no criminal activity whatsoever.”

He shook his head, laughing a little. “And the idea that you actually believe him is what worr-”

“I see real proof otherwise, Tim and I will kick him out,” she waved away his words. “He had nothing to do with that bus robbery, I know it. And if you’re here for something else, he had nothing to do with that neither.”

“You and Tim will...” he shook his head again. “What, you found a stray by the side of the road and brought him home?”

Ava glared, but not at him. She looked out across the yard, at something in the past. “After I shot Bowman, Bo decided to hire someone to show me the same.”

“Your stray?” Raylan guessed.

He was surprised when she smiled, was not surprised that it was a little angry. “He wouldn’t take the job. He wasn’t in town when it happened, and we told him to stay away for awhile, thought that would protect him some.”

“Wait, was he living here when we were, when you and I were, you know...” Raylan gestured ineffectually, vaguely.

“He doesn’t even live here _now_ , never has,” she corrected. “Just stays here sometimes.” She seemed to debate reaching for another cigarette, decided not to. “But he’s been sleeping on that couch for over a year now. And because of that, and because of me, Bo nearly killed him too. Sent some guys after him, nearly...” she stopped, shook her head. 

Raylan found himself at a little bit of a loss; he still had no idea who VFW- Tim- really was, and yet he apparently played a big part in Ava’s life, and Raylan hated being ignorant of these things. “I can’t take your word for it on Boyd, Ava. I won’t. But-” he held up a hand when she made to argue. “I’ll swear this to you. As long as I find nothing to the contrary, I’ll leave your stray to go about his business.”

She regarded him carefully, then nodded. “Fine. Now get the hell off my property.”

He was surprised he’d lasted there that long, to be honest.

***

Ava leaned back against the porch railing. Next to her, Tim was perched with one knee bent up to his chest, the other hanging down towards the ground, leg swinging. He raised an eyebrow at her, expectant, as he leaned back against a column.

She blinked innocently. “I just told him it’s nicer out on the porch than in that stuffy guest room.”

“Stuffy guest room,” he repeated, eyebrow still raised. “That the same one you kept trying to force me into?”

“That’s the only reason you tolerate Boyd in the house, isn’t it?” She answered with a question of her own. “So you have a better excuse for sleeping on the couch?”

“I finally got the cushions just how I like ’em,” he deadpanned back.

She grinned and moved to smack him just as the front door open, Boyd stepping out almost cautiously. He nodded at the both of them and took a seat facing out, letting out a little sigh as he settled. “Nice of you to join us,” she said as casually as she could.

He had the beginnings of a smile. “Thank you for the invitation.”

They sat in the quiet for a few minutes. She glanced at Tim- his head leaned back, his eyes closed, his face smoothed of tension- and at Boyd close to the same, and felt more accomplished than she would after three days work at the beauty parlor. 

She and Boyd started talking, quietly at first, about the house, Boyd’s shifts at the mine, Ava’s shifts at the beauty parlor. Boyd with long hair. “A rock band?” Ava laughed, incredulous and delighted by the image in the same breath. “Can you sing?”

Boyd smiled, easygoing, about as peaceful as she’d seen him in weeks. “No, I cannot sing.” And then there was that smile, the one she used to be uneasy about, the one she used to think was creepy. Now it was just sly, playful. “Not like Timothy can.”

Tim started next to her, having been almost asleep by that point. “What?”

“What?” Ava echoed, even more delighted. She turned fully to him. “You can sing?”

“No,” he protested immediately, an accusing glare aimed at Boyd. “How would you know?”

“So you _can_?” Ava tried to clarify the meaning behind Tim’s question.

Boyd shrugged, still smiling. “I recall a few times, stuck in a car, or up in the woods, waiting for you to take a shot, there’d be a distinct melody coming out of you quietly, under your breath. It was very pleasant, I remember.”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t-”

“Sing something for me!” Ava prodded him, poking him in the side.

He tried to scoot away on the railing, away from the both of them. “I don’t sing.”

“See now, son, that implies that you _can_ , you’re just choosing not to,” Boyd pointed out, sharing his grin with Ava now.

“Sing something for me,” she prodded again.

Crossing his arms defiantly, almost pouting, Tim glared. But Ava had gotten good at reading him, and she knew there was a smile in those eyes, even if he’d never show it. “I don’t sing.”

“Aw, Timmy-” the rest of her teasing was drowned out by the sound of tires coming up the gravel drive. Thinking it was Raylan- again- Ava turned lazily, her hand going to Tim’s arm for balance.

It wasn’t Raylan.

“Ava, go inside, please,” Boyd spoke calmly, but any edge of peacefulness was gone.

“Who’s that?” she turned back to him. She didn’t recognize the men in the car. “Friends of yours?”

“Go inside, please, and lock the door,” he kept his eyes on the car approaching. “Tim.”

Tim twisted his arm so now he was holding Ava’s, tugging her into the house without a word, just a long hard stare at Boyd. Boyd nodded back, answering whatever question Tim was asking, with whatever intent Ava couldn’t figure out. 

She let Tim lead her into the house and didn’t flinch at all when he pulled his rifle out from seemingly nowhere, taking up point in one of the front windows. With as much defiance as she could, she picked up the sawed-off from under the couch and moved to another window a bit farther away. Tim managed to roll his eyes and keep them on the front porch at the same time. She fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

They both listened in as the men (three of them, one of them limping- Ava noticed, wondered why) talked to Boyd, barely loud enough for her to hear. Tim’s stony expression grew darker as the words continued, as plans were made for (threatened at?) Boyd, as Boyd quietly and passively replied.

“Think he’s going do it?” she whispered, knowing Tim could hear her. “Rob the mine?”

Tim was quiet for a bit, waiting for the men to get back in their truck. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t be surprised either way.”

_And doesn’t that just sum you up,_ she kept the words inside her head. _And Boyd too._ Out loud, she just sighed. “He promised me.”

Tim shook his head a little, patient with her. “Those’re just words, Ava. Boyd uses ’em better that most, sure, but-” he cut himself off as the truck drove off and Boyd came into the house.

He looked back and forth between the both of them, Ava eyeing him suspiciously as she put the shotgun away, Tim still watching the truck, rifle loosely in hand.

“Boyd,” she said quietly, asking and warning and everything in her tone.

“I know,” he replied.

“You promised,” she said it again, not caring if it made her sound childish, naive, whatever else Tim had been implying.

“I know,” he repeated. “And I plan on keeping it.”

“You just told them-” Tim spoke up.

“I said I’d think about it, I never said I’d do the job,” Boyd pointed out, glancing over at him, most of his focus still on Ava. 

“Why didn’t you say no, then?” Tim wasn’t deterred.

Neither was Boyd. “I was being polite.”

And neither was Ava. “Polite?”

“Polite,” Boyd smiled a little. “I aim to keep my promises to you, Ava.”

What did it say about her that she wanted to believe him? “They know where the house is, Boyd. Where we live.” The strangest ‘we’ she’d ever been a part of. She was like Wendy with the Lost Boys.

She wanted to take care of them.

“I doubt they’d try anything, or get very far,” he tried to reassure her, glancing again at Tim who was shaking his head.

She huffed, rolled her eyes, needed to make things light again. “That’s my point. It’s your fault Tim’s gonna keep himself on guard duty and get no sleep next couple days.”

“Different from his usual state how?” Boyd allowed another small smile. Ava was a bit surprised, she could tell he’d relaxed at her words. Oh. He didn’t want her mad at him, she realized. It was all very, very strange.

“Glad you two find this so funny,” Tim muttered. He shouldered his rifle, grabbed its case, and moved past Boyd to the door. “I’ll be outside.”

“Tim-” she didn’t reach for him or follow, knowing he’d disappear on her if she tried. When he was grumpy- real grumpy, not his default, slightly playful grumpy- it was like poking a sleeping bear. Stupid.

Boyd also let him go. “I’ll talk to him later,” he told her once the door was closed. “He doesn’t trust me yet. But he gets my logic most times, I just need to explain myself.”

“You just said ‘yet’ like you expect him to trust you at some point in the future,” she didn’t really want to be relaxed and smiling yet either, but it was easier than being tense and angry sometimes. She was so tired of all that.

Boyd seemed to feel the same way. “I am forever an optimist, Ava Crowder.”

She glanced out the front window. Tim was sitting on the porch, disassembled rifle spread out in front of him. She knew there was another gun hidden on him somewhere. His shoulders were set, rigid, eyes glancing out to the driveway every so often. “It’s nice that somebody is.”

***

At some point people were just going to have to learn that Tim was always right. He worried for the day that Ava not listening to him was going to get her in real trouble.

Luckily she wasn’t at the house now. He crept down the stairs, allowing himself a small smirk of amusement that it was Deputy Tombstone of all people who provided an excellent distraction. He got to the bottom of the stairs and around the corner to the kitchen while Kyle and his merry band of mining nitwits confronted the marshal outside.

Boyd was just pulling the battery out of the sink. “Well? Like I said?”

Tim leaned against the back door, arms crossed. “It’s still a shitty plan, Boyd.”

“I’m right, though, am I not?” he pointed out, haphazardly drying the thing off, putting it back in the charger.

“Yeah, ’course you are,” he said it grudgingly. “But it’s still shitty. They do mean to kill you. Lot could go wrong.” Boyd glanced at him, waiting, so he shrugged. “But if it’s what you want to do, I won’t stop it. Their own damn fault for thinking a criminal mastermind is just their powderman.”

“High praise, coming from you,” he nodded to the door, telling Tim to bug out. “And if something were to go wrong...”

Tim held up a hand. “I’ll watch out for her. Just don’t do nothing stupid and I won’t have to.” He headed out the back, where his truck was parked out of sight. “Now go break up the party out front before your marshal boyfriend shoots one of them.”

He always savored the moments he got to have last word over Boyd.

***

Not that he’d ever admit it, but Boyd was surprised this was still all going according to his plan.

“What would’ve happened if they’d opened the bag?” Shelby coughed a little next to him as they got out of the mine, the heat of the truck explosion hitting them instantly.

“Then we’d be dead, Shelby,” he said calmly, scanning the wreckage of Kyle’s truck, making sure they were-

Shit.

The loudmouth, Marcus, was still alive, climbing to his feet a little unsteadily, looking mostly unharmed. But not unarmed. Shit. “Boyd,” Marcus growled, also coughing, his gun swinging in their direction-

When the shot rang out, Boyd flinched. But only because it came from an entirely different direction. Marcus went down hard and fast, no sound, no time to pull the trigger.

Boyd would recognize that shot anywhere. It was what snipers called The Apricot.

_Ava will definitely not be pleased by this development._

“What the hell,” Shelby ducked, glancing around, about to run for cover.

Boyd held his shoulder and kept him moving in their intended direction. “It’s fine.”

“Boyd, that-”

“It’s fine,” he said again, propelling them to where Shelby’s car was parked just clear of the explosion. “Now, I’m sorry it had to come to this, Shelby. I didn’t mean for it to happen, to get this far.”

Shelby was still looking wildly around, but he nodded coherently. “Far as I’m concerned, I’m walking away thanks to you. And, well, truth be told, I haven’t actually seen you kill anyone tonight.”

He nodded, patted the man on his shoulder, pushing him to the car. “I hate to ask you for one more favor, but-”

“Boyd,” Shelby said firmly, shooter forgotten. “I’ll back your play.”

Boyd took a deep breath. “They’re going to send everyone here, ATF and all that. Tell them I went home, had to go home. Tell them I had an emergency.”

Shelby’s breathing was back to normal, panic finally gone. “I’ll back your play,” he said again.

Boyd spent the entire drive back to Ava’s going over the rest of his plan and the slight addition (complication? he wasn’t sure yet) he really should’ve seen coming. Timothy. Most definitely puzzling. 

They arrived back at the house at nearly the same time, and Ava was waiting oh-so-angrily just inside the front door. “What the hell?” she snapped, waving Boyd’s note in the air. “What’s going on?”

“Told you a lot could go wrong,” Tim mumbled. His rifle case was hanging over one shoulder but otherwise, no difference to him. Boyd never saw any effects of taking a shot on Tim’s face after it was done. He both appreciated and was unsettled by it.

“Call this number at exactly 6:05pm. Don’t tell anyone,” Ava read off the note, then looked back up at them.

“Ava,” Boyd began. Or tried to begin.

“What if I hadn’t done like your note said? What if I hadn’t called?” she asked.

Boyd looked her in the eye. “Then I’d be dead.”

“And you?” she wasn’t done, turning to Tim. Tim said nothing, his face sliding into its mask. More blank than solemn. “Damn it, what have you two gone and made me a part of?” she demanded. Tim grimaced at the question, maybe the implication, and looked to Boyd to handle it.

“Just saving my life,” he felt safe speaking again, calm. Certain.

“So you’re both breaking my rules now, is that it?” Ava wouldn’t let them get any farther than the front door yet, eyeing the rifle case, the dirt and soot covering Boyd’s face. “Killing people? Blowing them up? I’m assuming that explosion was you. Could hear it all over the county.”

“I had to,” Boyd said quietly, taking a step in front of Tim, trying to take the heat off of him some. “I had to put them down. They would’ve killed people otherwise.”

She sighed, her eyes a little red, and motioned for them both to follow her to the kitchen. “Sit down, both of you. I need a drink if I’m gonna continue this conversation.”

Boyd sat down hard, the adrenaline of the night finally wearing off, his mind connecting the last few loose ends of the plan together to figure out the best way to bring all this to a close. He smiled mostly to himself when Ava joined him at the table, not at all surprised when Tim stayed standing, leaning against the sink.

But very surprised when Ava pulled out a bottle of bourbon and three glasses. He exchanged a look with Tim, who shook his head. Neither of them had any idea Ava kept liquor in the house at all anymore.

Tonight was apparently a night for rule breaking.

He took his drink with a nod of thanks, swallowed it down, then spoke quietly some more. “I did what I had to do, Ava. I gave them a choice, even. They tried to kill me, not knowing it was their own downfall. As far as I’m concerned, they killed themselves.” He saw Tim’s grimace out of the corner of his eye, but had no words to offer for whatever the young man was feeling.

“Why’d you agree to rob that mine in the first place?” she begged for an answer she wanted.

Unfortunately, he could only give her the truth. “Because it’s what I do. It’s who I am, Ava. As hard as I’ve been trying to pretend otherwise. Everybody seems to know that but me.”

“And me,” she seemed to say it against her will and then turned to Tim quickly, harshly, to cover that up. “And you? The same? Shooting people is just who you are?”

Tim didn’t wince, but Boyd imagined he could see some sort of hurt there. “Yes.” And then the mask was back, and Tim shrugged, easy and calm. “And you’d never’ve forgiven me if I’d let him get shot tonight without trying to do something about it.”

“And I thank you for that,” Boyd allowed a small smile, a nod of gratitude. Tim just nodded back, unwilling or unable to smile, still looking at Ava. He looked like he was just waiting to be sent away.

She didn’t nod, didn’t shake her head, nothing. Just took that in. “And how much of this was your idea?”

“None of it,” Boyd assured her for him, felt he had to. “Tim hasn’t broken your rules, Ava.”

“Except for me killing a man,” Tim pointed out, so unruffled. "Think that counts as criminal activity."

Ava flinched. Boyd did not. “You killed him to keep him from killing me and Shelby. This is not something that should be put on your conscience,” he insisted. Then he sighed. “But you should probably vacate the premises, son. As soon as possible.”

“What?” Ava nearly stood up from the table, out of shock than anything else, looking back and forth between them. Tim didn’t say anything, just raised a questioning eyebrow.

“The police will be here soon looking for me,” he explained. “And they can’t know you. Not your face, not your name, not that your rifle was involved. You should stay away from here, just for a few days.”

“I’m not kicking him out of _my_ house just because _you_ -”

Tim shook his head, enough to silence Ava. He didn’t touch her shoulder or anything, nothing of the sort. He didn’t like contact after taking a shot, Boyd always remembered that. He kept silent now, watching Ava and Tim exchange a few looks.

He gave them a few moments before speaking again. “Before you go, Timothy, take this with you for safekeeping.” He picked up the bag that had been at his feet.

“What is it?” Tim asked before moving, before picking it up, before anything.

“I saw the letter from the bank,” Boyd kept eye contact with Ava. “I apologize for invading your privacy, but I had to do something to pay you back for all you’ve done for me.” He offered as big a smile as he dared, which wasn’t much. “There should be fifteen or twenty thousand dollars in there. Enough to save your home.”

“Shit.” Ava opened the bag instead of Tim.

“I suggest Timothy holds onto it for now, you understand,” he allowed a smile again at the amazed look on her face. He could hear sirens now, knew that Tim could as well. “That is, if you trust him not to run off to Mexico with it.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Christ.”

The tension dropped just a bit, just enough. “Trust him more than you,” she said, not all that untruthfully. She nodded to Tim, face more gentle than it had been before. “Do what he says. I promise, I’ll call you when everything’s clear to come back.”

Tim looked at them, about as uncertain as Boyd had ever seen him. “This feels like ditching you two to handle my-”

“It’s _my_ mess,” Boyd interrupted that train of thought. “And I owe you too much. Trust me, it’ll be easier if you’re not here. The money as well.”

Tim picked up the bag reluctantly, still eyeing them. Not a glance at the piles of cash now in hand. “Doesn’t feel right,” he said again, seemed to _need_ to say it again.

“It’d feel more wrong for you to be arrested because of me,” Boyd insisted. “Please, Tim.”

Not Timothy. It woke Tim up a bit, one more glance at Ava, and he left, going out the back way. Leaving Boyd and Ava to stare at each other in an emptier kitchen.

“Thank you for that,” she said quietly. “For Tim, and for- for the money.” The sirens were louder now, flashing lights reflecting just so through the front windows of the house.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” he kept calm. He was entirely calm. In some ways, this was all still going according to plan. “Ava, I need one last favor from you. You can help me or you can refuse, either way I’ll understand. But I’m gonna need to know your answer right now.”

She laughed, and he wasn’t sure what she found most funny about it. “Oh, Boyd.”

He smiled too, couldn’t help it. Seeing Ava smile just made him do that. “I broke your rules, and it seems very possible that I’ll be moving somewhere else soon. I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

She flinched at that. “We’ll see,” she stood as voice rose up from the porch, someone knocking on the door. “We’ll see. What’s your favor?”

***

Art was still laughing a little to himself as he stepped out of the courthouse. Say what you want about Boyd Crowder, he was a wordsmith. And Art would be damned if he admitted it to Raylan, but his protectiveness of Ava seemed genuine enough.

He breathed the fresh air in deeply- interrogations were never his favorite way to spend a few hours- and headed or his car, intent on a good lunch and good cup of coffee anywhere outside that office.

The truck parked next to his car brought him out of his lunch plans, just for a moment. It was familiar, jogging some memory in his brain, something-

It came to him just as he saw the driver shift in his seat slightly, as though trying to shield his face from anyone who got too close.

Too late. Art grinned, easy and slow. “You here for Boyd Crowder?”

The driver’s window was rolled down, and he started, surprised Art was talking to him. “Excuse me?”

Art waved his badge. “Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal Art Mullen.”

The driver- Raylan was right, he was a kid- eyed the badge, seemingly confused about why he was seeing it. “Congratulations?”

He chuckled. “I’m the one who’s been overseeing your boss’s interrogation all night and morning.”

Still no reaction. “He ain’t my boss.”

“Really?” Art came around to his own passenger door, leaned against it, up close next to the kid. “Who is he, then?”

He snorted. “You got ten or fifteen hours for me to try answering that one?”

Art laughed again. Funny. And true. “If you’re not here for Boyd, it must be for Ava then. You her latest suitor?”

“Thought that was your deputy’s job,” he threw back, getting comfortable in his seat again.

Art raised an eyebrow or two. Kid knew about Raylan and Ava, that was interesting. “In the interest of me doing my job, should I ask whether or not you’re planning on storming the courthouse while I’m out to lunch?”

The kid shook his head, not much else moving. “Left all my grenades in my other pants, Chief. I’m just the ride home.”

Home? Interesting.

Very interesting.

***

It was near lunchtime by the time they got back to the house. Ava was still shaking her head. “When Boyd said for you to leave, I don’t think he meant leave and go to the Lexington courthouse where anyone could see you,” she lectured as Tim dropped onto his couch with a tired sigh.

He shrugged, closing his eyes. “Next time he should be more specific, then.”

She didn’t have the energy to glare, just sat down next to him and looked up at Boyd. “What happens now?”

Boyd stayed standing, leaning against the railing to the stairs. “We retrieve the money from wherever Timothy stashed it-”

“Spent it all. I’m going to Tahiti. Starting a cult. Bye.”

They ignored Tim’s mumblings. “We save your house, and then I wait for the call from the mining company terminating my employment.”

“You’re that sure they’re gonna fire you?” she asked.

Boyd and Tim nodded as one. She studied them both. “We’re gonna need coffee before any of that happens. Tim?”

He opened one eye, then the other. Then allowed Ava to pull him to his feet. As they headed to the kitchen, Tim passed his rifle case over to Boyd.

“This is?” Boyd asked.

“Where I stashed the money,” Tim shrugged again. “Spare case. Figured it’d be safest in my sight than in a hollowed out tree or wherever you imagined I’d put it.”

Boyd laughed, unlatching one end to peek inside. All the money was there, of course it was. “As well as you look after your artillery, I supposed I should be honored.”

Tim just mumbled something uncomfortably, always predictable in how he handled praise. “I’m not your banker.”

“No, you’re the coffeemaker,” Ava came back to them, tugged on him again. “Kitchen. Boyd, go put that money away for now, and take a shower. You still smell like mines and burnt-up cars.”

Once Boyd was upstairs, and they were alone getting the coffee maker running, Ava felt like she could safely speak. “You got something you want to ask me? Or tell me?”

Tim blinked. “What?”

Ava pointed at him. “You’ve been giving me that face since we left the courthouse.”

Another blink, his expression schooling into nothing. “What face? No I haven’t.”

Ava grinned. Just a little. Gotcha. “That face that says you want to ask me something but don’t feel comfortable doing it.” She paused, pointed up to where they could both hear the shower starting. “Boyd ain’t here. Talk to me.”

Tim shifted his stance, leaned against the sink. “You lied to the feds?”

“I did,” she answered, firm and steady.

His nod back, his look at her, was just as steady but curious. “Why?”

“To protect Boyd. And you,” hurrying on so he wouldn’t get tripped up on that, “and me. To save the house. It’s our home, Tim. Even your couch,” she smiled. “We all have something we’d do anything to protect. My home is it for me. And every- everything in it.” She’d almost said everyone, but that would’ve really unsettled him.

“Not against your rules to do that?” Tim asked carefully, going to the coffeemaker, something to occupy his hands and focus.

She regarded him seriously for a moment. “Different rules for different people, maybe.” She leaned back next to him. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that last night. Or made you think staying here was... contingent on anything.” Ava shook her head. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me want you to leave, Tim.”

He slanted a glance her way. “I killed a man last night.”

“I killed one in the dining room awhile ago,” she threw back. “I spent most off last night and this morning lying to federal agents.” She bumped her shoulder against his playfully, lightly. “Different rules for different people?”

He seemed to relax and grimace at the same time. “How far does that idea reach, Ava? Where’s the line?”

The water shut off above them with slightly poignant (or ironic?) timing. They both unconsciously glanced up at the ceiling. Ava wondered if that was the answer, but left it alone. “You think less of me, lying for Boyd?” she asked instead, not really scared of the answer.

Sure enough, Tim shook his head. “You think less of me?” he asked, careful and purposefully light.

She handed him the coffee mugs and, with his hands full, took the opportunity to lean in and quickly kiss his cheek, reveling happily in the glare he sent back. “Not a chance, Timmy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Next time,” he warned, a familiar threat by now. “I’m not gonna help. Let you both get shot or arrested or-”

“Next time,” Boyd strolled in with a grin and clean clothes. “We’ll just have to come up with a better plan from the start. Or find a way to just frame you for all of it.”

And despite the eye roll from Tim and the head shake from Ava, nobody disputed the use of ‘we.’ 

Wendy and the Lost Boys. Second star to the right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim is forced to interact with more of Harlan county than he'd like...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning- there is a CANON (season 2) character death in this chapter!

Tim was starting to (or, more accurately, had already started to many many times over) rethink this whole ‘all for one, happy family yay’ business he knew Ava was so excited about. He liked seeing Ava happy- hell, he didn’t hate that Boyd was doing okay too- but it meant Tim had to interact with _people._ Tim didn’t like _people._ He generally found them to be a mildly stupid, highly irritating species.

Case in point, Arlo Givens.

“I don’t see why we gotta have some young punk with his daddy’s rusted out piece of shit rifle standing around _my_ house when-”

Tim tuned the rest of it out, scanning the front yard instead. The high ground here was good. Better to defend. If he were to set up a spot here- and Boyd hadn't entirely convinced him to do it yet- he’d be able to take out half a dozen men before they’d know what hit them. It’d almost be fun, like back in-

“He served in Afghanistan,” Boyd’s calm voice broke through Tim’s daydreams.

“What, a cook in the mess tent?” Arlo’s voice tried for biting, but just sounded ridiculous. Kentucky accents were not meant to sound menacing, not to Tim’s ears.

“Sniper. With the Rangers,” Boyd was still being patient, for reasons beyond Tim’s understanding.

“Oh, so he’s the shit, then?”

Tim rolled his eyes, turned to scan back behind the house, the high rise of the hill. He picked out the two or three places he’d probably set up, then the two places that some inexperienced, shitty ‘sniper’ (using the term loosely) the Bennetts would use might pick. Good vantage points, but no second way out.

He’d seen it before, a dozen times over. Rookies would set up there, thinking it shielded them best from view, but if they gave away their position, there’d be no cover for retreat. Sitting ducks for another sniper- shit, a regular fucking grunt could handle it- to come in, one shot between the eyes, blood painting the rocks behind-

Tim blinked hard once or twice, flattened a hand that had somehow curled into a fist against his leg. Shit. No reason to think about that. Definitely not now. Waking hours were not the time for it.

He turned again, realized Arlo’s wife was watching him. Was it a knowing look on her face? Tim couldn’t tell. She looked like someone who’d seen it all, or closer to it than most people.

“You want some coffee, son? Or something stronger?” she asked. Her voice was clear and snappy, almost abrasive, but steady in a way he kinda liked.

“No ma’am,” he was so tempted, but his rule was no drinking until five. Maybe four. Three if he was desperate. He wasn’t desperate yet today. “But thank you.”

Helen, that was her name, nodded. “Don’t mind Arlo, it’s all just a side effect of him being an asshole.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t noticed, ma’am.”

She smiled a little, probably her version of laughing. “You really think we’d need protection if- and I’m not saying we are- if we signed with Black Pike?”

“Boyd thinks you do,” he nodded to where Boyd was still trying to talk rationally- see? people are stupid- with Arlo.

“Did I ask about Boyd? I asked you,” she snapped without bite.

He smiled before he could stop himself. “I’ve seen people around here kill each other for less. And they weren’t even part of the Bennett clan.” Helen winced at that, telling him there was history there, but said nothing. He didn’t ask.

“Boyd’s putting a lot of faith on one guy and his rifle,” she mused after a bit of silence. “You that good?”

Tim didn’t wince. “Yes ma’am. I am.” There was a lot of history there, too.

***

He didn’t understand the point of the goddamn town meeting, he really didn’t. Because if there was one thing the residents of Harlan county were known for, it sure as shit wasn’t diplomacy. 

Raylan shifted again, readjusted his hat, grimaced when it hit another bruise on his forehead. Scanning the room again, more out of habit than curiosity, he was surprised to see a strangely familiar face in the back, nearly blending in with the walls, that unobtrusive.

Tim caught his gaze and looked up, nodded, seemed to smirk without moving his lips, then went back to his own scan of the room.

Raylan couldn’t help a smirk of his own. He had a hard time seeing this guy as a bodyguard, but Tom Bergen had mentioned that some kid with a rifle was part of the protection Black Pike was advertising. Or Boyd was advertising, at least.

It was almost too bad, Raylan could’ve used his help finding that sniper after the bomb threat yesterday. Not to mention it would’ve meant he wouldn’t be on babysitting duty today.

He watched Mags make her speech, curious now, wondering what her play was. He could see the wheels turning in Boyd’s head too, could practically see the dominos getting set up all over Harlan, just waiting for someone to knock one down, to knock them all down. That’s just how shit happened around here, wasn’t it?

As if proving his point, the gunshots went off with almost perfect timing. Raylan immediately drew his gun and got to Carol, shoving her even farther to the floor. His eyes tracked the room, noting Doyle covering Mags (who was covering Loretta), Boyd covering Ava, the troopers hitting the exits, and Tim...

Tim was just standing there, shaking his head. Raylan paused and stood up a little straighter. Tim said nothing, but caught his eye and waved a hand. _All clear._ Raylan gave him a questioning, and slightly exasperated, look back- _Really?_ Tim just mirrored the expression. _Really?_

“All clear!” one of the staties called into the room from the parking lot. “All clear. Everybody go on home now.” The room started to empty fast.

Raylan kept his hand on Carol’s shoulder when she tried to stand up. “Stay here till I say otherwise,” he kept her behind the podium. He moved past Boyd and Ava, past the Bennetts- Dick and Coover leaving together, that spelled trouble- towards Tom Bergen. Which happened to take him past Tim.

“Shockingly unconcerned,” he drawled by way of greeting, unsure yet of whether or not he should holster his gun.

Tim somewhat smiled. “Ten bucks says it was a homemade bottle rocket. Maybe firecrackers.”

Raylan frowned. A tiny piece of a puzzle, or maybe a domino, took shape in his mind. The perfect timing... He shoved it away for later thought. “You seem sure.”

He huffed a laugh, sort of. Raylan assumed it was a laugh. “Eight years in OEF, think I can’t hear the difference between a gunshot and a cheap-ass explosion?”

“Raylan,” Tom Bergen waved him over, something clutched in his hand. Raylan spared one last annoyed look to Tim before ambling over. “Here’s our shooter.”

It was a goddamn firecracker. Raylan felt like groaning, like laughing, like taking the damn thing out back and shooting it himself. On principle.

He looked back at Tim, but the kid was already gone. Raylan readjusted his hat, finally holstered his weapon. He turned back to Bergen. “Any ideas where it came from?” He wondered where Boyd, Ava, and Tim fit in with these dominos. And what would happen when they started to fall.

***

Ava and Tim went home right after the meeting, but Boyd made a few rounds to houses and made a few phone calls first before getting back to the house. The meeting had been... enlightening, that was most assuredly so. There was more brewing in Mags Bennett’s mind than her moonshine, he just needed to ascertain what she-

The hit came out of nowhere just as he entered the dark living room, the back of his head exploding with pain and bursts of light, throwing him forward. He landed hard, twisted onto his back as fast as he could, as two shadows- he recognized Dickie Bennett’s offensive facial hair almost immediately- descended on him, fists and boots flying hard and fast.

“You understand, Boyd,” Dickie smiled as much as his repugnant face would allow, “it’s just business.” Coover, the other distasteful shadow, dropped a burlap bag of... something alive next to him.

Boyd was less concerned with the bag and his words, and more concerned with the whereabouts of Ava and Tim. He hadn’t been gone that long, were they-

“Don’t.”

The quiet word and the sound of two guns being cocked was his answer.

“Ho,” Dickie stood up fast, hands up. Coover was predictably slower.

“Get out,” Ava spoke next, taking a step closer, her sawed-off shotgun firmly in hand. Boyd had a flash of her pointing a similar gun at him months ago. Her stance and grip on the gun were more confident, experienced now. She knew what she was doing.

The person who had taught her was in the other doorway, a .45 in one hand. Tim had that look, that ‘I could do this all day, just try me’ look. 

Coover was, however, deeply ignorant of all of this. “Girl, you ain’t shooting nobody-”

Not taking his eyes off his targets, Tim pulled another pistol- or Glock? Boyd couldn’t tell from his vantage point on the floor- from his back and shot the burlap sack.

“No!” Coover started yelling, grabbing the bag, and Dickie started yelling too, at Coover, at Tim, at-

“Get out of my house!” Ava managed to raise her voice clearly over all of them, the one soothing sound to Boyd’s aching head right now.

She and Tim moved together seamlessly, Ava next to Boyd, Tim in front of them both, guns still raised. Tim reloaded the chamber of the gun he’d fired, aimed directly between Dickie’s eyes when the man stepped forward too. His face as steely and dangerous as what he was holding.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Ava warned.

“Coover, let’s go,” Dickie attempted some sort of dignity as he dragged his still yelling brother towards the door. “I believe we’ve made our point.”

“They shot-”

Dickie hushed his brother with a look. “No need to go upsetting the Crowder guard dog,” he smirked at Tim. “Mongrel’s shown his teeth enough tonight.”

Tim’s guns didn’t waiver, one pointed at each brother. “I could say something clever about my bark and bite, or I could shoot you.” He took a step forward. “I’m not feeling particularly clever right now.”

“Coover,” Dickie insisted, pushed Coover out, backwards-limping his own way to the exit.

Tim followed them to the door, staying right there, and then Boyd lost sight of them as Ava knelt down next to him. “You okay?” she asked, looking him over. 

“Tim sounded like me,” was the first thing that came to mind.

Ava stared for a second, then laughed. “He’s been hanging around us too long.”

They could practically hear the eye roll from the door. “I’ve been saying that since day one.”

“Are they gone?” she asked, helping Boyd sit up.

Tim nodded, but stayed at his post, watching as Boyd stood and took stock of himself. Nothing broken, just bruised. Again. He sat on the bottom of the stairs, somewhat surprised when Ava joined him, sitting close.

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about them coming back, they were just putting in a scare,” he assured her, talking slowly around a bruised lip and addled mind. There was something there, at the tip of his reasoning. Something... “I just need to figure out the angle.”

“Whose angle?” Ava asked, quiet and curious.

“Mags. I have to figure... there’s something else she’s aiming for. It’s not just the coal, it can’t be.”

Ava nodded, thinking that over. He could tell Tim, maybe even despite himself, was trying to puzzle it out too. “Well,” she finally said, “What’s the one thing everyone around here is always angling for above all?” She shrugged when neither Boyd nor Tim answered. “Money.”

Boyd smiled, conceding that. A good and true point. And a good start.

***

Raylan wasn’t sure what it said that he _wasn’t_ surprised to see Tim at Arlo and Helen’s when he brought Carol around. 

“Deputy,” Tim nodded all calm (of course), sitting on the porch with Helen like he wasn’t at all surprised either.

Raylan held back a resigned sigh, nodding in turn. “Tim.”

Tim didn’t react to Raylan knowing his name, but Helen and Carol did. “Oh, you already know Mr. Gutterson?” Carl smiled, all cat catching the canary, drinking the cream, having the cake and eating it too. Everything. “Wonderful. Then you understand why I requested his presence here for this meeting.”

Raylan took his hat off for a second, rubbed his forehead, telling himself to remember Tim’s last name for later research. Gutterson. “I’m not really thinking it was Arlo’s idea.”

“I didn’t request shit!” a voice yelled from inside.

Tim’s mouth twitched, amused by that, maybe pleased at being an annoyance, and Raylan had to appreciate that. Carol missed it, focused on the man that voice belonged to. “Mr. Givens, if I could have a moment of your time...”

“Raylan,” Helen stood, nodded for him to follow her into the yard, away from the meeting. Tim waved them both away; he’d keep watch.

For all the good that did.

This time, when the gunshots rang out, Tim moved. Fast. He had Arlo and Carol flat on the porch in the time it took Raylan and Helen to find cover behind the trailer.

“You see him?” Raylan yelled.

“Off to the west,” Tim called back, loading and sighting a Glock. “No visual.”

Raylan nodded, more to himself than anything else. “Everyone get inside the house, stay low. Go!” he pushed Helen towards the porch, laying cover fire, Tim doing the same. A few rounds flew past him as he moved, he and Tim sliding into the living room last, barely ducking a few more bullets.

“Sniper,” Raylan told him.

“No shit,” Tim said right back, tucking away his piece and reaching for the rifle case leaning against the wall. “Windows in the kitchen, southwest lookout.”

Raylan reloaded the mag on his gun. “I’ll take point.” Turning to Helen, Arlo, and Carol- “Stay down, stay away from the windows.”

“I can’t get a signal,” Carol had her cell out. Raylan had to appreciate the forethought, unnecessary though it was.

“You won’t,” he and Helen said together. He pointed to his aunt,” The phone in the kitchen-?”

“Hasn’t worked in months,” she snapped. “You’d know that if you bothered to call.”

He rolled his eyes, half at her words, half at Tim’s quiet laugh. “You ready?” Tim gestured with his now assembled rifle for Raylan to lead on.

A window blew out as they entered the kitchen. “Looks like we’re in the right place,” Raylan took of his hat, waving it towards the window. Another shatter of glass.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons,” Tim murmured, focused and firm, moving to the other wall of windows and setting his rifle through another empty pane. “Up the hill a ways, maybe twenty yards. See that tree knocked over?”

Raylan eased to the windows, one eye peering out. “That where he is?”

Another shot echoed Tim’s perfectly bored, “Yep.”

Raylan nodded. “Can you shoot that thing as well as I hear?”

Tim racked in a load with a definitive crack, sighted it, very still. “You want me to kill him or wing him?”

Raylan bit back a sigh. “Let’s start with winging. Lay some cover while I swing around from the other side.”

“Sir yes sir,” he muttered, molding his arm and his eye with the rifle- almost like one metallic being. Raylan regripped his own gun. “Ma’am,” Tim spoke again, and for a second Raylan really thought he was talking to him. “Stay away from those windows, please.”

Raylan whirled around. “Damn it, Helen.”

“I’m not gonna be cowering in the other room when someone’s shooting up my house,” she glared but obeyed Tim’s words, moving up behind him with her shotgun.

Raylan sent up a silent prayer for patience as he went past Arlo and Carol, ignoring Arlo’s whining. He waited for the sound of rifle fire from the house and moved fast, around the side yard, into the trees to the east, moving towards where Tim had pinpointed. A shot, loud and clear, hitting another kitchen window, brought him closer.

He dove through the brush hiding their shooter, but was brought up short by the sight. Wasn’t a ‘him.’ It was the younger female from the trial, the suspect’s sister. Great.

She had no such hesitation, spinning around, rifle up and pointed- and then one more shot rang out. A bullet lodged in her arm, the one bracing the weapon. She screamed and dropped it, going to the ground right along with it.

Raylan raised an eyebrow. Nice shot. He moved to the girl and tried to interrogate over her screaming. He knew her brother had to be- if not here, then at the judge’s house. If he could just get the girl to shut up for three seconds...

By the time Raylan got the girl into state custody, sent word to the Lexington office for Reardon, and collected Carol from the house, Tim was long gone. And Raylan, sensing the pattern, wasn’t at all surprised. He shook his head, took the money from Helen, and- over her yelling at him- walked Carol to his car. Until she was out of Kentucky, this Black Pike bullshit wasn’t gonna be over.

And neither would his headache.

***

“Sorry I missed the festivities,” Boyd commented, glancing up and down Tim to assess the situation. “Any casualties?”

Tim set aside his rifle case. “I got her before she killed anyone.”

“She?” Boyd raised both brows.

Tim sank into the empty chair at the table, smiling a little thank you when Ava passed him the bottle of bourbon and a glass. “Yep. Shot a woman today. One square closer to my sniper bingo.”

The hand pouring him a drink paused. “Tim,” Ava admonished softly. “That ain’t funny.”

Maybe not, but it felt better to be short, crass, Too Dark (capital letters) after... after these things. Kept everything at bay for awhile. It was how they worked over there in The Shit (capital letters), why couldn't he...? He shrugged one shoulder, not really apologizing. “I didn’t kill her.”

Which meant, obviously, that he hadn’t _tried_ to kill her. That was something, wasn’t it?

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, that it seemed to be the right something to Boyd and Ava. They relaxed (he hated when they were tense because of him- because of him killing somebody) and went back to looking over the map spread out on the table. “I figured it out,” Boyd changed the subject for him. “What Mags is up to.”

Tim shot him a look. “Well?” he waved a hand. _Go on, impress me._

Boyd grinned. “If the mine were an army camp you wanted to set up,” he turned the map around so Tim could see the right point of view. “On top of a more remote mountain, maybe near hostile territory. What would be the most important facets of-”

“Shit,” Tim almost laughed, getting it now. “The roads.”

“The roads,” Boyd agreed with a flourish. 

“So, what now?” Ava shook her head, indulgent.

“Now, Ava,” Boyd’s smile was cunning, if Tim could describe it in one word. “I’m going to need you to put on a dress.”

“Excuse me?” she looked to Tim for help, but he just shrugged.

Boyd nodded, rolling up the map. “We don’t want to be late to the party, do we?” He glanced over at Tim, “I’d invite you as well, but...”

Tim glared, expectant. “But?”

“Well, Timothy, there’ll be _people_ present at this shindig, and I know how you feel about people,” he was triumphant, so proud of himself. “Especially when they're Harlan people.”

Insufferable, Tim added to the list of adjectives. He waved them both out of the kitchen. “I've had a long day, shooting people and all. Go, leave me alone.”

It was a strange feeling, Tim decided later as he settled down to nap on the couch, that he could say something like that to people and know they’d come back.

***

Tim was out back when they returned, resting after a run up the hills behind Ava’s house. He was settled flat on the ground instead of the porch- grass was cooler and... safer. No, stupid word. It just felt better than dirt. Dirt and sand were never gonna feel comfortable to him again. Hills full of rocks and caves, hiding-

Maybe that was why he was still in Kentucky. Terrain covered in trees and mines didn’t make him feel like he was- didn’t take him someplace else.

Tim grimaced, set aside the beer he’d been drinking. (He could drink a bottle of beer while lying flat, he had some skills suited for this world, thank you.) Since Ava had brought out that bourbon, her alcohol rule had pretty much evaporated, much to Tim’s relief. His sleep was a little better since, too.

Not that there was a connection there.

Still, he set the beer aside. Beer made him morose. Left him with just enough brainpower to think too much. He lay back instead, closed his eyes, listening. Picking out each bird call, judging what direction they were coming from, distance between each one. If he was completely sober, he’d be able to pinpoint exactly which tree each bird was in.

If they’d been enemy soldiers, he’d already have picked them off by now. One by one. Rapid fire. Like-

Another grimace. Fuck it, he was breaking out the liquor. He was working up the energy to stand and do just that when he heard Boyd’s truck amble up the driveway, heard the two of them enter the house. They were... giddy, it sounded like. Tim frowned and wondered why he was frowning. They sounded happy.

He kept his position under the open kitchen window, listening as Boyd and Ava laughed and talked, teased each other, moved around each other so effortlessly to pour drinks, pack away leftovers from the party.

Then Tim realized why he was frowning. Something was different. Between Ava and Boyd.

Maybe it had been there for awhile, but Tim was just sensing it now. There was an easiness there. Ava was relaxed, perfectly comfortable around Boyd. _Happy_ around him. And all that twitchy, combative air from Boyd, the first quality Tim had noticed in him when they met, melted away with Ava around. They were both at peace. With each other.

Tim kept himself out in the yard, listening to their voices, their laughter. Staying outside, half mulling this over, half telling himself to shut up.

When Ava had told him what happened with Bowman, a part of him had been honestly relieved. She was free now. Free of that family, of Harlan. Of Kentucky, if she wanted. She’d always seemed like one of those girls in stories- small town girls who pack up, move to a big city, live happily ever after. With Bowman gone, Ava was safe to do it.

But Ava had stayed in Harlan. Had kept her couch free for Tim. And now she was staying tangled with Boyd and that Crowder legacy. A part of Tim still wanted Ava to get free of this world; she was better than all of it.

But the other part of him didn’t want to see her go. He knew- Ava leaving it behind would leave him behind too. Because Tim _was_ a part of this world and always would be. Ava sometimes had Tim forgetting that, sometimes kept his head above water.

And now... Tim finished off the damn beer. She and Boyd were re-tangling themselves with each other. Maybe they didn’t see it yet (shit, Boyd probably did, he saw everything), but Tim could see it. And he wasn’t sure where that left him.

Shit. Tim glared at the empty beer bottle, laying blame on it. He hated being morose.

***

How quickly things could change.

Boyd entered the kitchen carefully, having sensed the dark cloud before he’d reached the doorway. “Ava-”

“You going somewhere?” she asked, brittle and strong in the same breath. “Vacation, business trip?” She nodded towards the stairs. “I saw your bags packed.”

He nodded as well, calm, maybe apologetic. “You and I both know I’m taking up some former activities, some family affairs. I think it’d be best if I’m not doing it under your roof.”

“Boyd,” she shook her head. Warning him, though he wasn’t sure what for.

“It’d be against your rules,” he pointed out quite reasonably. 

She pointed to the bottles of bourbon on the counter. “Oh, because I’ve been real strict about enforcing them lately.” Which, he had to admit, was just as reasonable a counter-argument.

“Coover Bennett is dead,” he held firm, though. “Matters between myself and Mags, Dickie- it’s all liable to explode. If I can keep you and Tim out of some of that blast radius, I have to try.” He also wasn’t sure how she’d feel- how he himself felt- about cousin Johnny and Devil around again. He needed them, but he also needed them separate from this home.

“I’ve handled myself pretty well so far,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you try saying that to Tim, see how well that goes over with him.”

Another fine point, but Boyd wasn’t deterred. “Doesn’t change the fact that me staying here would involve you in the danger too much for my liking.”

“So that’s it?” Ava sounded closer to tears, but in that way she got when she was angry and frustrated. Helpless. “This- all this was for nothing? Back at square one?”

“No,” he stepped closer, had to. This, he could be adamant about. “No, Ava. You healed me. Gave me life again. You gave me a reason to-”

She held up a hand, silencing him. “Just go.”

And now, ironically enough, he couldn’t get his feet to move away from her. “Ava, I-”

“ _Go,_ ” she didn’t quite yell, but it cut just the same. He hadn’t wanted his final moments with her and this house to go like this.

But he wasn’t sure why he expected any different.

He backed out of the kitchen silently, head bowed, a last parting gift he could bestow, and walked out. Tim was on the front porch, sitting on the floor, cleaning one of his rifles. Not looking at him, not saying anything. Boyd came to a stop in front of him anyway, knowing there were words that needed to be said.

Tim’s face, always hard to read, was all business when he finally looked up. “Where’ll you be staying, then?”

“Probably with cousin Johnny, at least for awhile,” Boyd didn’t sit in a chair- too permanent- or lean against the railing- too casual. “Timothy.”

“Yeah?” Tim started to disassemble the rifle without looking at it, a show of skill, capability, danger that Boyd had always associated with this young man.

He nodded into the house. “The guest room is once again empty. Might I suggest you consider moving into it, permanently this time?”

His hands didn’t pause in their movements, but there was a twitch to Tim’s jaw. “It’s not for me.”

He almost laughed. “I don’t believe that, son. I think, for one, it’d be good for Ava to have you there. And it’d be beneficial to you as well.”

He laid each rifle piece in the case. “Me?” almost belligerent with the question.

“A flower that won’t spread its roots dies quickly of thirst,” he intoned.

Tim went still, raised an eyebrow. “Calling me a flower, Boyd?”

He smiled peaceably. “One with thorns, obviously.”

Tim shook his head, exasperated, looking away for a moment. Reminding Boyd, in that one slightly off-putting moment, of a similar expression Raylan frequently gave him. Off-putting, indeed.

“Think about it, son,” he phrased it as a last request, a suggestion. “It’d do you both some good.”

Still looking away, “'I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found.'”

“Steinbeck,” Boyd supplied immediately. “Was a fool, and you are no fool.”

Tim dragged his eyes back to Boyd. “I’ll think about it.” Then he waved a hand, lazy, expecting. “Now ask me whatever it is you really came to me for.”

He laughed genuinely this time, caught. “Would you be amenable to joining my enterprises once again?”

Tim pursed his lips, thinking it over, his eyes ticking just once over into the house. “You think you’re gonna need a shooter this time around?”

“I’d rather have one needlessly than need one fruitlessly,” he said by way of an answer.

Tim sighed heavily, loudly. “Why can’t you just say you don’t know?”

“Because I enjoy our witty repartee as much as I do your rifle skills,” Boyd answered more directly this time.

It brought Tim a little short. He thought it over some more. “You’re preparing for a war. And I’m not going to war again, Boyd. I won’t,” he said it slowly, the words dragging out of him reluctantly. “I don’t want that feeling anymore.”

Tim was still adrift within himself, Boyd could see that. He also knew of empty liquor bottles by the couch, sleepless nights, eyes going blank to look at something far away. Tim wasn’t healed, wasn’t whole.

“I don’t want that either,” he said. “Truly, I wouldn’t ask that of you. And I don’t plan on letting it get to that.”

There was a short, disbelieving laugh of his own. “Your plans and reality don’t always mix.”

Very true. “Which is why,” Boyd spoke carefully. “I’m hoping I can count on your mind as well as your eye. Between our different kinds of crazy, we can prevent anyone from going to a war.”

“My kind of crazy?”

“'Maybe the greatest madness is to see life as it is rather than what it could be', am I right?” he recited with a smile.

For a second it seemed like Tim might not recognize it, but then he shook his head. Once again exasperated and (Boyd dared to imagine) almost fond. “You quoting Don Quixote is about the most redundant fucking thing I’ve ever-”

“I’ll see you around, Timothy,” Boyd nodded a farewell and headed off the porch.

“Boyd...” Tim’s voice stopped him at the driveway. He hadn’t stood, so Boyd could only just see the top of his head. “She’s been happy lately. With you. Don’t give up on her.”

It probably cost him a lot to say it. Boyd handled the words (Tim’s blessing?) with care. “I don’t intend to.”

***

He was gone by the time Ava got home that evening. The guest room was empty, just a few of Boyd’s books left behind. That was it. No other mark on the world, no other sign that he’d ever been here at all.

Ava wasn’t sure she wanted to explore why that hurt so much. But that plus the realization that Tim’s truck was gone too- it did hurt. A lot. Tim had left his usual note, sure, but...

Ava changed into her boots. She needed to get out of this house, where the emptiness filled it up and tried to knock her over. She headed into the hills, the path Tim had cut out for his morning runs. _At least he’ll be back, just a few days_ , she told herself.

But Boyd was truly gone. Even if he hadn’t fully wanted to, her yelling at him had sealed it for sure. Ava regretted that; she hadn’t meant to cut ties with him so severely. But it hurt- she’d spent so much time with those two, thinking she was helping them. Fixing them.

And yet, Tim still felt the need to run off and disappear. Boyd still felt the need to put himself on the dangerous side of things. Risking his neck and everything else because he thought all he was was an outlaw. But he wasn’t, and maybe that’s what had Ava so torn up.

Boyd was more than his lot in life, and she seemed to be the only one who knew that.

It was funny, she’d been with Raylan partly because of what he’d represented. Something new and... outside. Someone who’d gotten out, risen above and all that. He’d seemed like _possibility_ to her. But it turned out he was as bogged down and drowning in Harlan bullshit as anyone. He probably still was.

No, the funny thing- the real funny thing- was that Boyd Crowder of all people was the one who made her feel like she herself was a _possibility._

And now he was gone from her life.

It was dark by the time she got back, circling around the property to the driveway. And for a second she didn’t even register the strangeness of Boyd’s truck being there. It was supposed to be there, even when it wasn’t. “Boyd?”

He was standing beside it, facing the house, obviously no intention of going in. His face, when he turned to her, was hard to read. But sad. She could see sadness in the tightness around his eyes. “Ava.” They stared, silent, for a minute. “A nice night, isn’t it?”

She didn’t really want to play along, but play along she did. “It is. I went for a walk, wanted to see the stars. Get out of the house for a bit.” She looked like a mess, she knew. Smudged with dirt, with tears. No more playing around. “What are you doing here?”

“I...” Boyd seemed to be at a loss, surprising her. “I wanted to see you- home- one more time. I bear no illusions that anything has changed, Ava, I just-”

“Shut up, just-” she’d started moving forward the second he said ‘home.’ She grabbed his jacket. “Just-” She kissed him.

She had to.

He had to kiss her back.

It was heated, sweet, messy, magic all at once. She held on tight as his hands came up to frame her face. She didn’t know what she was doing, didn’t care. Tugging on his jacket, “Tim’s away. Come inside.”

She had to.

***

Tim breathed in slow, deep. In one, out two. Adjusted the scope one last time. Squeezed the trigger. The recoil jolted his shoulder a little, but he didn’t feel it. Not anymore. He waited another breath, in one, out two, and sat up. 

Target down. Movement out of the corner of one eye had him turning, pulling off the earpiece he’d been wearing.

Raylan gave a golf clap or two. “Nice shot.”

Tim looked back down the long field of the gun range, at the bullseye he’d just hit, then back at the marshal. “What are you doing here?” It was his way of acknowledging the compliment- he could’ve just as easily said ‘What the fuck are you doing here’ or ‘Get the fuck out’ or something.

Raylan settled into the fold-out chair someone had left behind the shooting line. “Looking for you.”

“Well shit. Why?” he flicked on the safety, laid the rifle across his lap. Not threatening, not welcoming either.

Raylan smirked. “Ain’t you gonna ask how I found you?”

Tim sighed. A little. “There’s only three gun ranges in south-eastern Kentucky with fields this long. Did you hit the other two first?”

The smirk dropped, disappointed. “Just one. Was gonna swing around to the other after this if you weren’t here.”

Tim gave a golf clap of his own. “Well, we’ve established your investigative skills, okay. Why are you looking for me?” Tim didn’t get comfortable, didn’t want to give Raylan the impression he should either.

Raylan thankfully picked up on it. “You know any guys, when they got out of the service, got hired as contract hitters?”

Tim frowned, wondering what Raylan was implying. “Look, I haven’t-”

He waved a hand. “Not a suspect. I’m just curious.”

Tim calmed, thought it over, brought names and faces he hadn’t thought of in months back to his mind. It only hurt a little. “Yeah, most of those guys are okay. But some get,” he tilted his head, thinking of how stupid this word was, “home, find out they can’t hack it without the mad minute and start hiring out for wet work.” He shook off his own feelings on the subject, looked at Raylan. “Why?”

“Someone took a run at me last night,” he said it matter-of-factly, almost completely able to hide the fury underneath. “My people seem to think they were former military.”

Tim turned it over in his head. “You think the Bennetts hired them?”

Raylan shrugged. “Crossed my mind.”

Made sense and didn’t, and Tim told himself it wasn’t his place, wasn’t his puzzle to figure out. “You searched three gun ranges just to ask me that?”

Raylan held up two fingers. “Only searched two, thank you. And no. Wanted to ask a favor.”

Well, this was surreal. He sighed again, gestured for Raylan to speak. “I live and breathe to do your bidding.”

His infuriating smirk was back at that, even as he set a business card down on the arm of the chair. “You hear anything, either Bennett or army buddy wise, give me a call?” At Tim’s skeptical look, Raylan let loose a sigh of his own. “They almost killed my ex-wife last night. An innocent woman. You gonna stand for that?”

“I’m fine sitting here,” Tim murmured, deliberating. “I... I’ll ask around,” he finally offered, not even sure why he was doing it.

Raylan seemed just as surprised. “Okay. Thanks.” He stood up, looking around the range again. “Nice place.”

“No,” Tim pointed a finger threateningly. “You don’t come back here. I like this place. You, you bring death and destruction and Harlan county with you wherever you go. No. Not here.”

Raylan’s smirk was even more biting, but some of that fury seemed to have eased. “Give Ava my regards.” And he actually fucking tipped his fucking cowboy hat in farewell as he left. Answering his phone as he did, “Yeah, sorry Nelson, I’m still looking for my ice cream...”

“Fucking hell,” Tim grumbled, putting the headset back over his ears. He left the card where it was for now. At this rate, he’d have to add another hour of target practice to wear off his annoyance. He’d be sore as hell tomorrow, but he figured that was preferable to shooting a U.S. Marshal.

It took a good couple of minutes to convince himself of that, but he managed.

***

“Devil’s boys getting in tomorrow is cutting it kinda close, don’t you think?” Johnny groused.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it careful and right,” Boyd lectured. “They’ll get here with the supplies and firepower we need, and it gives us more time to get everything in order.”

“Even with his boys,” Johnny wasn’t done arguing. “We’re not gonna have enough to take on the whole Bennett clan and every hired gun they have.”

Boyd just smiled, and Tim was content to shake his head, marveling at how in his element Boyd was with shit like this. “I believe Euripides said it best-”

“Europe who?” Devil groaned. “Boyd, what the hell does this have to do with-”

“'Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head',” Boyd continued over him. He pointed to Tim as though to back him up.

Tim was still shaking his head, shifting his lean in the doorway. He didn’t feel comfortable sitting with the other men. “Not the right wisdom, Boyd. You think Mags doesn’t know what she’s doing?”

Boyd was undeterred. “I think-” the front door opened and closed, heels clicking slowly on the wood floor. “Ava, we’re back here, Timothy’s back from his travels as well,” he called out before going back to the conversation at hand. “That’s just my point. She won’t do anything uncalled for, she’s got a code for this sort of...” Boyd trailed off, and the others followed his gaze.

Ava’s face was stricken, almost shell-shocked. Tears falling unchecked. Tim’s stance went quickly from leaning to attention, angry and not sure why yet. Devil and Johnny sat up straighter as Boyd relieved Ava of her bags and pulled her close, as confused as the rest of them.

“Helen’s dead.”

Boyd stiffened around her, and Tim took a step closer, frowning- maybe he’d heard wrong.

“Shot last night in their house,” Ava continued, crying into Boyd’s shoulder.

Tim looked to the nearest person, and he and Devil exchanged a look of realization. Last night. Shit. When Arlo was out with Boyd, stealing Dickie Bennett’s-

Shit.

Tim rubbed a hand over his face, pushing aside whatever he might be feeling, pushing until he felt nothing. He needed something to do.

Boyd must’ve felt the same way. He turned, one arm still around Ava, to direct a calm, grim stare at Devil. “Call your boys. Get them here. Tonight.”

“He’s gonna try coming here,” Tim realized, regretted saying it out loud when Ava flinched. But he’d pushed away his emotions already, he could push away regret too. Focusing on Boyd, “Dickie’s gonna try to storm the place. Hit you where it hurts, where he thinks it’s weakest.”

Boyd swallowed, thinking over a dozen plans at once. “Cousin Johnny, you might want to go home and find a way to fortify your house.”

“Shit,” the man grumbled, already wheeling himself towards the door.

Tim stayed where he was, waiting for orders. Boyd didn’t disappoint. “We’re gonna be outnumbered possibly two to one. If you can figure out the best defensible positions, front to back, for two to three shooters to hold?” Tim nodded. “When we get back, I’ll go over them with you, decide-”

“Get back? Get back from where?” Devil questioned, always in a rush.

Boyd’s arm tightened around Ava, who was still silent, still shaking. “We need to go pay our respects to Arlo.”

Tim followed them out front. “Good chance Raylan’ll be there,” he warned quietly.

“I’m aware,” Boyd nodded. “We still have to go.”

“And he’ll be pissed,” Tim continued. “Especially if he finds out what y’all were up to last night.”

“I’m aware,” he said again, helping Ava into his truck, shutting her door. “I’ll ask you to possibly prepare for him storming the place as well.”

Tim didn’t sigh, but it was a near thing. He waited until Boyd moved to the driver’s side, then leaned into the open window. “Ava?”

She wiped at her face. “I’m okay.”

He nodded, dismissing the lie. “Be careful.”

Her eyes softened. “Tim-”

“Be careful,” he said again, quieter. Insistent. “This shit’s gonna get worse before it gets better. Helen wasn’t even in the middle of it. You are.”

Ava smiled painfully. “So are you.”

He wasn’t, not really. But he appreciated her trying to keep him so close. “Whenever her service is,” Tim shrugged, looking away from her and Boyd. “I’d like to go.”

Ava reached out, squeezed his hand where it rested at the open window. Didn’t say anything, thank God. Boyd nodded, having waited to start the car until they were done talking. “We’ll be back soon.”

Tim stepped away. “I’ll be here.” he watched them go, then scanned the driveway, turned, scanned the back of the property. A flash then- he’d done the same at Arlo and Helen’s about a week ago.

For all the good it did Helen.

Devil was a welcome intrusion just then. “Well, General Patton,” he shuffled up to Tim. “Shall we create some battle plans?”

Tim grimaced. Fighting another war. “Let’s go ’round back.” He hoped this one would turn out better than the last one he’d been in, but didn’t have high hopes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which season 2 draws to a close, as does Boyd's war with the Bennetts, as does my story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to split up each "season" into a different fic. Hopefully next week the first chapter of season 3 will be posted! Thanks for reading!

“I’m not staying in the basement,” Ava snapped, arms crossed defiantly. “Like a... a...” She shook her head. “I’m not gonna hide down there all day.”

“Yes you are,” Tim said, simple and direct. “That was the deal. Leave town, hide in basement. One or the other.”

She hesitated. “It smells funny down there,” trying anyway.

He held his ground. “Don’t know what you’re telling me for. It’s your house.”

She sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. “If it was really my house I wouldn’t be stuck in the basement,” she grumbled, going back to the basement door. She paused then, looking back at him. “Tim...” That spark was there in her eyes, but there was fear too.

Tim looked heavenward, as though gathering his patience. Better her to think he was annoyed than worried. He wasn’t worried. He was... cautious. Ava didn’t need to know any of that. “Boyd’s gonna be fine. Better, if you’d stay in the goddamn basement. Let me enjoy my peace and quiet up here, okay?” What the hell, sweetening the deal, “I’ll make you some coffee, bring it down.”

She wanted to argue, he could tell. Wanted to barter for even more. But Tim let the mask on his face drop, just for a few seconds, let her see how serious he was. How _important_ it was that she listen to him.

This was his world, finally. She was looking inside his.

He had no clue if Ava saw any of that, but she saw something. “Fine. Okay,” she gave a little shrug, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her jacket. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed. He waited for her to move, to shut the door behind her, before he went into the kitchen. He sent a look Devil’s way as he passed him. “Eyes out front. Don’t say noth-”

“What,” Devil grinned. “I like milk and two sugars, please.”

“I will shoot you and make it look like an accident,” Tim warned, shaking his head. “Eyes out front.” Devil saluted, turning back to his lookout position. Tim made his way into the kitchen, to his close personal friend the coffeemaker. He’d just set it to brewing, when instincts and something familiar started buzzing behind his eyes. He looked up quickly, just as figures emerged from the brush behind the house. “Ava, lock the door!” he yelled.

“Tim?” he heard Devil’s footsteps, prayed he wouldn’t hear Ava’s.

“Out back, they’re-”

And the gunshots started.

***

The gunfire seemed to go on forever. That was how it felt to Ava, crouched and shaking just inside the basement’s locked door. She heard the shots crack windows, splinter wood, tear up _her house._ They got closer, and just when she started to really shake, a new burst of shots from another direction- Devil’s boys hiding in the shed.

She heard Tim calling out to them, to Devil, directing them. Returning fire the whole time. His voice was commanding, and so... Ava was struck by it, even in the midst of the terror she was stuck with. This is what Tim sounded like as a soldier. 

And then it stopped.

Well, there were still gunshots outside the house, but near her? It was almost silent. Ava crept up a few more steps, right by the door, pausing to listen. She could hear Tim’s voice again, but it was quieter, tight and angry again. And the voice that answered him was Dickie Bennett’s. Ava put her hand to the doorknob, paused again.

They were arguing, or- or something, Ava couldn’t quite hear. Tim wasn’t yelling, but she knew his voice well enough to hear the tension in it. And she definitely heard the shot that came soon after. It was too quiet in the moments following. Ava stopped thinking, just grabbed the knob and shoved the basement door open. “Tim!”

She swung around the corner towards the kitchen, but was brought up short within seconds. Tim was there, and Dickie. Neither of them bleeding. Maybe it’d been a warning shot, or a last ditch effort and miss before ammo ran out, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter now. The second she came into view, both of them turned towards her, startled. And they had the same idea at the same time.

“Ava,” Dickie started to smile, almost polite. Like they were back at his mama’s party.

She was frozen, entombed maybe, watching as Dickie brought his shotgun towards her, as Tim moved to get between them. The movement and the pulling of the trigger happened at the same time, and suddenly Tim was on the floor. 

She might’ve yelled his name again, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she tried to run towards him and someone harshly pushed her back. Kept pushing her, until she hit the wall behind her and slid to the floor. She tried to raise her arms and push back, but there was no one there.

And it hurt to move her arms.

There was no one there, but someone- something?- was still pushing, so much pressure on her chest she couldn’t catch her breath. She looked down, confused. So confused. Because for some reason, there was nothing there pushing on her. Just blood. A lot of blood. And more pouring out of her chest.

Her last thought before her eyes fell closed was that she’d never heard the bullet that hit her.

***

Devil cursed as the truck turned the last corner out of sight. Shit, Boyd was gonna be pissed that Dickie Bennett got away. He turned to the men behind him with a nod, “Good job, boys.” At least they’d gotten everyone else. That was something.

He frowned then, realizing Tim wasn’t with them. Maybe he was still out back? Keeping watch for a- a second wave, or whatever the fuck soldiers would call another attack. “Hey Tim!” he called out. “We’re good, man. Ain’t nobody left!” No answer. No all clear, no shit-talking, nothing. “Tim?”

He didn’t curse this time, just bounded up the porch steps, shoving past his guys to get into the house. Boyd was gonna murder him if he let the kid get killed by the goddamn Bennetts. Hell, Ava and Boyd together would chop him up into little pieces and scatter him throughout the county-

“Devil,” Tim’s normal drawl was slurred, spoken through a clenched jaw, a hiss every time he took a breath. “Call Boyd.” He was kneeling over Ava in the hallway by the kitchen, hands on her chest. There was blood everywhere. “Doctor. Now.”

Devil just stared for a second. “Shit. Was it Dickie?”

“ _Call. Boyd._ ” Tim was near-growling, pulling off the flannel shirt he was wearing to press over Ava’s wound.

Devil had his phone out, dialing, still staring. It was how he noticed more blood, seeping fast, steady, through Tim’s undershirt at his side. “You’re bleeding, kid.”

And now he noticed Tim wasn’t really kneeling, he was hunched over. His hands putting pressure on Ava’s wound were shaking a bit. “I’m aware.”

“You get hit?” he kept the phone to his ear, waiting for Boyd to pick up. Tim _and_ Ava, Devil wasn’t sure who was in more danger now- himself or Dickie Bennett.

“She needs a doctor,” Tim said instead of answering. He pressed harder on the wound, drawing some quiet sound from Ava. Tim didn’t flinch, didn’t wince, nothing. His face was set and hard, focused. There was blood on his hands, his side, smudged across his forehead. Devil had never been more scared of the kid- he’d always seen him as scrawny and, well, boring. Never understood why Boyd and Ava kept him around; he was a damn good shot, but...

Now he got it. Scary fucker. He turned away from the sight, waiting for Boyd to pick up.

***

Boyd didn’t remember the phone call, the drive back to the house, directing the men to clear off dead bodies in the yard. He didn’t remember pushing past Devil on the porch, talking a mile a minute. His memory started with seeing Ava.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he knelt by the couch. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

He was shaking his head before the words sunk in. Meant to placate her, but all that came out was, “Why didn’t you stay in the basement?” He barely recognized his own voice.

She held his hand tightly, and he was slightly reassured by the grip. “I’m sorry,” she said it again. “I head- I thought Tim had been...”

Tim. Boyd turned to the end of the couch by Ava’s feet. Tim was perched on the arm, rifle across his lap. A .45 loose in one hand. Covered in blood, not looking in any one direction for too long a time. “Tim?”

He didn’t answer. Ava squeezed his hand again, weaker this time. “He said he had to keep watch. I don’t-” she stopped to catch her breath, closing her eyes and wincing at the effort.

He tried to keep her from moving too much. “Arlo, where’s that doctor?”

“Pulling up now,” he heard Arlo in the doorway behind him, surprisingly subdued.

“Devil, escort him in here.” He didn’t bother waiting to see if the order was obeyed. “Tim,” he said again, sharper. Tim looked at him, jaw clenched tight, seeing him for the first time. “Stand down, son. It’s over now.” Again, not waiting, “How much of that blood is yours?”

“Some of it,” Tim sounded like he was talking about the weather. He wouldn’t look at Ava, Boyd noticed that.

“Dickie shot him,” Ava was down to a whisper again, drawing his attention back.

“He told you that?” Boyd asked. Something dark was gathering over his mind. Storm clouds, but worse. Wrath, that was one of the seven deadly sins, was it not? Boyd planned on finding out how deadly he could make it.

“I saw it,” her eyes were bright, a sheen of tears. “Can- can you believe it? Of... all people, Dickie Bennett got me and Tim.”

Boyd closed his eyes, just for a second. Needing that second. One thing was becoming very, very clear. He was going to be the one to shoot Dickie Bennett himself. In the chest, let him bleed out slowly like he’d intended for Ava.

Footsteps brought him back. “Boyd,” Devil was there with the doc from the nearby clinic. Boyd stood reluctantly, laying Ava’s hand back on the couch. He may have bartered payment with the man, but he wasn’t sure. He was much more preoccupied with keeping those storm clouds at bay for a little longer.

He directed the doc towards Ava. “You fix her as if your life depended on it, because it surely does,” he hoped he sounded calm and confident. He meant to. Pointing at Tim, “When you’re done with her, you check him out too.”

Tim started, his own thoughts obviously having drifted away as well. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Boyd forced himself to be patient, he owed Tim that. “You’re staying here, getting patched up. I’m not gonna let whatever wound you’re hiding get infected.”

“It’s a graze,” he muttered. “Boyd-”

“Tim-”

“I have to,” Tim stood, barely a hitch to the movement. If Boyd didn’t know any better, he’d think Tim was fine. But he did know better- he knew _Tim_ better. “I have to put a bullet in him.”

“So do I.” Boyd moved closer to him, watching the doc look over Ava. “If he’s still alive when you’re done getting looked at, you can be my guest to add to the holes I plan on putting in him. But I’m going to go find him now. You’re going to stay here and guard Ava. Can you do that for me?”

Tim faltered at that idea, then glared. “You’re patronizing me. Devil and Arlo can watch over her.”

Boyd almost smiled, but it felt too foreign. “They could. I’d trust them to, it’s true. But I trust you more. Please, Tim.” He could see the wound now through a rip in Tim’s shirt, done bleeding but still making a mess of his ribs on the left side.

Tim took another step forward, still defiant, but faltered again. This time physically, stumbling on shaky legs. Boyd held his shoulder, pushed him into a chair back by the couch. “Stay here. Help the doc with Ava, get your ‘graze’ bandaged up. I swear to you Tim, if I need you, I’ll call.” He didn’t wait for an argument, figuring it best to leave before he got one. He studied Ava one more time, then pointed to Devil and Arlo in the doorway as he left. “You keep an eye on them both, you hear me?”

He didn’t wait for a response from them either. There was no more room left in his mind but wrath and storm clouds. It was time to put them to good use.

***

The whole goddamn day was upside down, Raylan decided. Not just literally, though he was hanging by his leg from a tree. But he’d also been outsmarted by Dickie goddamn Bennett. And was now being rescued by Boyd goddamn Crowder.

Raylan hated today.

He couldn’t stop the groan when he hit the ground, untangling himself from the rope. Jesus, he was getting too old for this. He stretched his limbs, grimacing at the bruises he knew would be there tomorrow. Dickie probably still couldn’t hit a baseball for shit, but Raylan had made a better-sized target.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pretending he was thanking Boyd for handing him his hat- not for rescuing him, definitely. “My gun?” At Boyd’s hesitation, “I’m gonna need it, where I’m going.” In a look, he let Boyd know he was going after the rest of the Bennetts. In a look back, Boyd told him not to fuck that up. He handed over Raylan’s gun and turned to Dickie.

“Ho, ho, Raylan, wait-!” And now Dickie was back to that sniveling cowardice everyone knew and did not love him for. “You can’t leave me here with him. You need me, Raylan!”

“Do I?” Raylan rolled his eyes as he holstered the gun.

“You ain’t gonna get anywhere near Loretta without me and you know it!”

It was a desperate plea, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also true. Raylan sighed a little, wondering how this was gonna work. “Boyd-”

“No.” There was a darkness to Boyd, a different kind of determination Raylan couldn’t quite figure out.

“I need him for just a little longer,” he said. “Then we’ll put him away, for-”

“He shot Ava,” Boyd didn’t take his eyes or his gun off his target. “And Tim.”

It brought Raylan up short for a moment. Shit. “How bad?” If they were dead, Boyd would’ve fired before Raylan was out of the tree.

“That’s not the point,” he spoke carefully, more controlled than actually calm. Boyd had one objective right now, that was clear, and Raylan was standing in the way of it.

Raylan was surprised to realize a part of him really did want to step aside and let Boyd pull the trigger. Helen, Ava and Tim...

But he couldn’t let Loretta be added to that list. “Boyd. I’m taking him with me. You’re gonna have to step aside.”

“You asking me or telling me?” he looked at Raylan now, and while he’d never actually beg, the plea was there in his eyes. He needed to shoot Dickie.

But Raylan needed him more. “If it makes you feel better, you can tell people I asked.”

He was honestly shocked Boyd let him go. He didn’t want to imagine the paperwork (or the look on Art’s face) if he’d let Boyd kill him. “You better pray we arrest you,” he growled, shoving a handcuffed Dickie into the backseat. “You stay out here, your days’ll be shortened to minutes.”

“The hell you talking about?” Dickie stayed cowered nearly flat on the seat, just in case Boyd changed his mind and fired into the car.

Raylan smiled, kinda looking forward to either outcome. “I’m fairly sure Boyd’s gonna be gunning for you for the rest of your pitiful little life. And if he doesn’t find you, you can be sure Tim will. And I’d bet my hat on the fact that he doesn’t miss.” Looking into the rearview mirror to stress his point, “Ever.” Dickie cowered even more. “Now. Let’s talk about Loretta.”

***

Tim clenched his jaw a little tighter, forcing himself to keep watching as the medic- doctor, he was a doctor- stitched up his side. It really had been a graze, ugly and a little too deep for his liking, but just a graze. He accepted the bottle of Jim Beam from Devil, took a few gulps, handed it back. “Thanks.”

The doctor sat back a minute or two later, looking over his work. “All right, that should do it. Be careful moving around too much next couple days. Stitches going across your ribs like that, they’re easy to rip. It’s gonna be tender for awhile. If it starts to look infected, you get a fever, anything, come find me, okay?”

Tim ran a finger lightly across the long gash, over the stitches. It’d been awhile since he’d had stitches. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”

It was quiet for a second, and Tim looked up to see the doctor watching him. “Bullet holes, I recognize,” he nodded to Tim’s shoulder, then looked back at his chest. “And knife wounds. But what are the other ones?”

Tim frowned a little. _None of your goddamn business._ He reached for a shirt- the flannel and undershirt he’d been wearing were ruined- putting his arms through the sleeves carefully. “Shrapnel, fragments.” He buttoned it up quickly, covering each and every scar, old and new, from view. “IEDs.”

Thank fucking Lord, the guy just nodded and moved on, going back to Ava. She was still knocked out on the kitchen table, but she wasn’t bleeding anymore. The bullet was out. Blood washed away. Things were okay.

Most things.

Tim finished buttoning up his shirt and stood, reaching for his rifle. “I’ll be back.”

“The fuck?” Devil stood up straighter from where he’d been leaning against the door jam. “Where the hell you think you’re going?”

“Bennetts.” He tested how far he could stretch his shoulder and arm on the weak side- far enough. He slung the rifle over his other shoulder, only to have Devil block his way when he tried to move. “Devil-”

“Boyd will shoot me in the gut and drop me down a mine if I let you walk out of here right now,” Devil muttered, glancing over at Ava (unconscious) and Arlo (unconcerned). “He told me to keep an eye on you. Damn near _ordered_ me to.”

Tim picked up his .45 off the coffee table, checked the rounds, and tucked it in at his back, only wincing a little when it pulled at his stitches. “Well, take both eyes and keep ’em on Ava. I gotta go.”

“And what do I tell her if she wakes up and asks where you are?” Devil got a little louder now, frustrated, annoyed, all of it.

Tim actually smiled, and fuck, it felt weird. “She knows me.” That was weird too, to be honest. “She probably won’t be that surprised.” He stepped in closer when Devil looked to protest again, lowered his voice. “That asshole shot me. Shot _her._ I owe him a bullet. You get that, right?”

Devil all but threw his hands up into the air. “Shit. Yes. I do. But Boyd...” he shook his head. “I’m just gonna go into the kitchen and get a drink. Wait to go until my back is turned, give me something man, okay?”

Tim just nodded. Devil’s feelings weren’t really his concern. Being able to shoot with ribs messed up was. He’d be fine with the rifle, he could brace it with his good side, the kick wouldn’t open up stitches or anything. But drawing the .45, he wasn’t so sure.

Not that it really mattered. One way or another, he was repaying a couple bullets by the end of the day.

***

Raylan bit back a groan (it’s all he’d done today- almost get killed, groan, almost get killed, groan, rinse and repeat) as he shuffled down the steps of the Bennett house. Loretta had already been whisked away by Rachel and Nelson, coroners collecting the bodies of Doyle and Mags...

It’d been a hell of a day. He still hated it.

He limped over to Art, idly wondering if he’d be able to wash off all the blood he could feel dripping down his hip and leg. He only had like three pairs of jeans, he didn’t want any more of them ruined from bloodstains.

Art nodded at him as they both leaned against one of the marshal SUVs, surveying the scene. The rest of the Bennett men were being detained and arrested by a mix of staties and feds. It was a mess.

“This is a mess,” Art agreed with him out loud, sighing. He side-eyed Raylan. “How’s that gunshot wound working out for you.”

“Oh, just fine Art,” Raylan smiled as obnoxiously as he could. “Hurts like a bitch, ruined a shirt, probably lost my pancreas-”

“Your pancreas is on the other side,” Art explained with something that kinda resembled patience.

Raylan narrowed his eyes. “Is it?”

“How should I know?” Art sighed again. Of course. “It’s what you get, you know, for having Boyd Crowder as your backup. _Again._ ”

“Boyd-” Raylan turned to him, bracing an arm against the car. “What, he called you or something? Told you to come rescue me?”

“No, that was someone else,” Art waved away Raylan’s questioning look at that. “I’m talking about your shooter taking out Doyle Bennett before he took you out.”

He frowned. “I didn’t have a shooter.”

And now Art was frowning. “Raylan...”

“Art, I didn’t. I thought it was a marshal who took the shot.” 

Art shook his head. “We were still getting into position. I would’ve at least tried to talk him down before putting a bullet between the eyes.” Waving a hand, “Procedure and all.”

“I didn’t have backup, Art.” Raylan glanced around, couldn’t help it. Who the hell took the shot? And how?

And... why?

Dickie was led past them, his bravado back now that he was safely in police custody and handcuffs. “Raylan! You better arrest him, Raylan. Son of a bitch killed my brother, if you don’t-”

Raylan forced himself to stand straight, push away from the car. “You know who it was?” Art followed him over, holding a hand up to stop the staties from taking Dickie to their waiting car. 

Dickie wasn’t even listening to him, still rambling on. “God damn mongrel showing his teeth again. He killed my brother. I didn’t even... I didn’t kill _him_ , Raylan. You gonna go arrest him?”

“Dickie.” Raylan really wasn’t in the mood to interpret Dickie bullshit. “Who.”

“Damn Crowder guard dog, that’s who,” Dickie spat at their feet. “Mark my words, if I ever-”

Art shook his head, done. He motioned for Dickie to be taken away and turned back to Raylan. “We’ll get a report on the bullet that got him. Meanwhile, you need to get that wound checked out before...” He stopped, confused by the look on Raylan’s face. “What is it?”

Raylan almost felt like laughing. “Crowder guard dog. Shit.”

“Raylan.” Gunshot wound be damned, Art was not gonna put up with him today.

“It was Tim,” he shook his head, let himself laugh a little.

“Who?”

He adjusted his hat, started limping his way towards the ambulance he knew Art had waiting for him. “The guy staying with Boyd and Ava. Tim Gutterson. He’s a combat vet, knows how to use a rifle,” he eased himself down to sit on the stretcher they had waiting. “And I’ve seen him use it well.”

Art was still frowning, still shaking his head. “And why was he here, then? What’s he got against Doyle Bennett?”

“Dickie. Shot at him and Ava this morning, apparently. Don’t know much more than that,” he glared at the paramedic who started prodding at the wound. “Is that really necessary?”

“You’re the one who got shot,” the medic mumbled.

Art pointed at him, got his attention back. “So he shot Doyle- or allegedly shot Doyle- just to save your life?” Art looked at him sideways. “Out of the goodness of his heart? Or he’s taken a liking to you?”

“The world may never know,” Raylan was purposefully light, even as the medic kept poking at him and the wound started hurting like a son of a bitch. “Maybe he was looking for Boyd. Maybe he’s a hitter who only takes out other bad guys.”

“Like that guy on that show? He kills people who kill people?” 

Raylan didn’t bother hiding his own sigh. “I don’t know, Art, let me go get my TV Guide. Are you _done_ yet?” He directed the last question at the paramedic again, even as he faltered some, blood loss and shock finally catching up with him.

“Are you still shot?” the guy snapped back, then turned to Art. “Chief...”

Art nodded, giving his permission. “Drug him. We’ll follow you to the hospital.”

“I don’t need- son of a _bitch_ ,” he yelped- a manly yelp, of course- as a needle was jabbed into his side, just above the wound. He glared at all of them, even Rachel and Nelson, as his limbs got heavy and his eyelids heavier. 

Yep. Raylan’s original analysis still held. “I hate today.”

***

Boyd didn’t look up when Tim shuffled into the room, but it was fine- Tim wasn’t looking at him either. Ava was still lying on the dining room table, not moving, breathing slowly. She looked a little better, cleaned up and bandaged, some of the color back to her face.

But the bandage was there. And Tim couldn’t look away from it.

“Timothy.”

He started, having forgotten Boyd was there. Boyd stood up from his chair by the table, gestured for Tim to take it. Tim shook his head. “I’m-”

“Sit,” Boyd almost smiled as he said it. Almost. “You look about ready to keel over.” He didn’t wait for another argument, just headed to the kitchen and returned with the bourbon and two glasses. 

Which did more to convince Tim to sit down than Boyd could. He dropped into the chair, bracing his side a little as he settled. “Thanks,” he mumbled when Boyd handed him a full glass, preferring to study it over Ava.

Boyd pulled another chair up next to him, sat with one hand holding his own glass and one hand resting over Ava’s. “How’s your graze?”

“Fine, couple stitches,” he swirled the liquid around his glass, reminding (forcing) himself not to gulp it all down. “I didn’t get Dickie.”

Boyd didn’t nod, didn’t shake his head, didn’t smile. He took another sip. “Well, neither did I, obviously.”

“He’s in custody,” Tim continued. “Marshals and cops and whoever else.”

“Whomever,” Boyd corrected, maybe instinctively.

“Fuck you,” Tim’s reply was just as instinctive.

The air around them a little bit lighter, Boyd smiled. “Raylan was there, I’m assuming,” Boyd took a second to reach out and tap at Tim’s glass, reminding him to drink. Tim dutifully sipped a few times. “What happened with Mags and the girl?”

He grimaced. “Don’t know about the girl. But Mags is dead.”

Boyd froze. “Shit.”

“Doyle too.”

Boyd threw back the rest of his bourbon, set the glass aside. Keeping one hand on Ava, he turned fully to Tim. “How?”

Tim was still taking his time with his drink. “Mags by her own hand. Doyle, bullet between the eyes.”

Boyd opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He looked Tim over again, studying him in that inquisitive, intuitive way that Tim always felt uncomfortable around. People had never really looked at Tim that way before. He was the person who was supposed to go unnoticed. Boyd and... and Ava, they noticed him. 

“It’s fine,” he said, before Boyd could ask.

“All right then,” Boyd just nodded. He didn’t have to ask or guess, just knowing that it was Tim’s bullet that went between Doyle’s eyes. “Nobody’s gonna come after you, right?”

He shook his head, finishing off his bourbon. “He was about to kill Raylan point blank. And nobody saw me. Knew I was there.”

“And you’re-”

“It’s fine,” he said again, firm. His hands tightened around the glass, mostly to keep from reaching for the bottle. He really wanted the bottle. He really wanted to drink until today was no longer today. “I’m sorry.”

Boyd shook his head, almost smiled again. “I don’t need an apology from you. Not you.”

Tim shook his head right back. “I didn’t protect her.”

Boyd was still facing him. “Neither did I.” He leaned forward, took Tim’s glass out of his hands to get his full attention. “Tim. I could fill this room with platitudes and reassurances right now. I could apologize myself for putting you here, and the good Lord knows you deserve an apology for it all. I could tell you Ava is going to be just fine. Would any of that help right now?”

Tim looked back at Boyd, warring between dropping his mask completely- showing how tired and angry and empty he was- and just getting up and leaving. Instead, he shook his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Boyd’s tone was... it was never _gentle_ with Tim, thank fucking God, but it was respectful. “So instead, let’s just,” he poured them both another drink. “Sit here with our girl. And know tomorrow’s going to be better.”

“If you didn’t just jinx it,” he muttered, even as he accepted the glass. 

Boyd chuckled. “I’ll forgive your transgressions of today if you forgive mine.”

It threw Tim a little bit. That Boyd was bringing it up so boldly, despite his ‘no platitudes’ thing. He was serious about it. It was that respect thing again, and Tim had absolutely no idea how to handle that. So he just nodded, a few quick jerks of his head, and turned to Ava again. 

“Good.” Boyd did the same.

They sat in silence, until Tim finally got too uncomfortable with being so comfortable. “Next time,” he stopped, cleared his throat, started again. “Next time, I’m not gonna help. Let you both get shot up or poisoned or thrown down a mine shaft. I’m gonna go on vacation instead.”

Boyd’s eyebrows rose, a smile back on his face. “That cult in Tahiti?”

“Yes,” he said, stubbornly miserable. 

Boyd set down his glass. The one hand still touching Ava, his now free hand clasped Tim on the shoulder. Just for a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

Art winced a bit as he entered the office, his knees finally catching up with the hours of standing and hustling around and then standing some more. The office was nearly dark, just a few stragglers left.

He stopped by the desk of the person he was absolutely not at all surprised to see there. “I told you to head home from the hospital.”

Rachel glanced up from her computer, but just a glance. “I will. I still need to catch up on some paperwork from last week’s WITSEC debacle.” She sighed without sighing, shaking her head. “I wish you wouldn’t pair me with Dunlop so much. He can’t handle stakeouts with me. Still gets too nervous.”

He winced again. “Well, Rachel, there aren’t that many Marshals around who _can_ handle you. You frighten them.” He settled into the chair across from her desk. “Hell, you frighten me sometimes.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes a little. “Raylan’s okay?”

“He’s fine, they’re gonna release him sometime tomorrow or the next day.” Art leaned back, decided to put off worrying about how he’d deal with less manpower in the office for the next few weeks.

“You can go home, Art. I’m about to shut everything down for the night,” she took pity on him, probably lying just to give him the excuse to go.

It was nice of her, sure, but fruitless. “Actually, I’m kinda glad you’re here. There’s a little task I have for you, Nelson not required.”

Rachel looked up again, longer this time. Curious. “What do you need?”

“I need you to look up info on a guy. Records, license, anything you can get. He’s former military, so there’s gotta be something. Maybe call your friend at the FBI.”

“Art,” she waved a hand, slowing him down. “I need a name first.”

Art pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. A capture of security camera footage from outside the courthouse. A grainy photo of a kid sitting in a truck by Art’s car. “Tim Gutterson. Get me what you can.”


End file.
